Draco Malfoy: Rewritten
by LeftToBurn
Summary: After a run-in with a mountain troll, a young Slytherin and three Gryffindors become best friends. But as their world seeks to break them apart, can they trust one another - or will they face betrayal? Closely follows the plot of the books, but instead of a coward, Draco is a BAMF. Currently on book 4/7
1. Halloween

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

_"You don't want to be making friends with the wrong sort." Draco offered his hand to Harry. "I can help you there."_

_Harry's green eyes stared back at him frostily. "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he replied._

Draco's pale face flushed pink again from the memory. "Who does he think he is," he huffed out loud.

Vince and Greg guffawed loudly. Draco stared at them coldly until the two buffoons realized that he hadn't said anything funny. _Idiots_, he thought.

"Harry Potter," he muttered, turning away from his friends. He scuffed his feet as he walked towards the Great Hall, Vince and Greg trailing behind. Since meeting Harry Potter on the train, life hasn't gotten much better. Sure, he had fit in alright with his fellow Slytherins, but Draco had never wanted to just fit in. He wanted to stand above the rest. To excel. To be admired. But that was proving to be impossible with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, in his year. Everyone at the school practically fell over themselves to please Harry Potter – he had even received a Nimbus Two Thousand after doing some fancy tricks during their first flying class. Then, the school had bent the rule that prevented first years from bringing brooms, creating an exception for Potter. Because he was so _special_. Draco snorted – he knew he could do better. After all, hadn't he been flying since he could grasp a broom?

His studies weren't so hot either. In every class that he had with Gryffindors, that bushy-haired brunette – what was her name? Oh yes, Hermione Granger – showed him up. He was a Pureblood, raised and born into magic, so how did the Mudblood girl seem to know more than he did? Draco knew he wasn't stupid or lazy, but no matter how diligently he studied, he remained second in the class.

The only class going well for him was Potions, and while Draco already knew he had talent for the subject, he also knew that others suspected Professor Snape of favoritism. Well it wasn't his fault that his parents and Snape were good friends. Draco felt it was so unfair. All the other teachers favored Harry Potter, yet still praised him for being _so talented_. But when Draco excelled, it was attributed to his family's connections.

And now it was Halloween. Bats fluttered throughout the Great Hall, and carved pumpkins of all shapes and sizes decorated the tables. Draco grinned in delight, thoughts of Potter disappearing. As he sat down at the Slytherin table, he pointed at a particularly round pumpkin. "That one kinda looks like you, right Vince?"

Vince chuckled and the three boys instantly relaxed, Draco's moodiness over. As the food appeared on their golden plates, they tucked in.

Draco was spooning another heap of buttery mashed potatoes into his mouth when Professor Quirrell rushed in. "Troll – in the dungeons," he gasped, then sank to the floor and fainted.

In the ensuing uproar, Draco saw Harry and Ron splitting off from the Gryffindor group. He narrowed his eyes. What were they up to?

His lips curved into a slow smile. The two Gryffindors were definitely up to no good - and who else to catch them if not Draco Malfoy?

He quickly glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then slipped away. Weasley's bright red hair made them easy to follow. He nearly lost them when they merged into a stream of Hufflepuffs but soon caught sight of them again when they turned into an empty side corridor.

A horrible odor drifted to him, and Draco was reminded of the nauseating smell of Vince's dirty socks. He struggled not to vomit and ducked behind a large stone statue. When the twelve-foot troll appeared, his grey eyes almost popped out of his head. Thoughts of catching Potter or Weasley redhanded disappeared and it was all he could do to not hiss out at the two idiots to get away from the monster.

The troll slumped into a room and he watched as Potter and Weasley ran up and locked the door. _Brilliant!_, he thought admiringly, despite himself. Then he heard the scream.

The two Gryffindors heard it too, and they turned to each other and yelled, "Hermione!" They spun around, unlocked the door, and rushed inside.

Without thinking, Draco ran in behind them. He instantly recognized the girls' bathroom. Or what was left of it. Sinks were torn off the wall, water was squirting everywhere, with metal debris lying strewn around. The brown-haired know-it-all was pressed up against the far wall. The troll moved slowly towards her, hefting its club to attack.

"Confuse it!" He heard Harry scream. As Ron ran towards a metal pipe on the other side of the room, Draco looked around desperately. His eyes locked onto Hermione's, her eyes wide and glassy, reflecting his own fear.

Harry threw a piece of metal at the troll. The monster didn't even grunt.

"Oy, pea-brain!" Ron yelled.

As the troll turned to the voice, Draco felt his legs carrying him forward. What was he doing? He was no stupidly brave Gryffindor! He tried to stop but slipped on the wet floor and slid straight for the troll. He squeezed his eyes shut and screamed shrilly, sure he was about to be crushed.

Instead he fell onto something unexpectedly soft. Opening his eyes, he found himself face to face with Granger. Somehow he had avoided the troll's legs. Blushing furiously he panicked and pushed her away, sending her spinning across the slippery floor. The force also pushed him back, towards the back corner - when the enormous wooden club crashed into the space where they had both been just a moment ago.

A piercing howl filled the bathroom and Draco instinctively covered his ears. He looked up and saw Harry perched on the trolls back, shoving a - was that his WAND? - up the monster's nose!

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" he heard Ron yell. The club flew up from where it was lying on the floor to smack the troll on the head. It swayed heavily. Draco barely scrambled out of the way before the twelve-foot monstrosity crashed onto the floor.

Harry pulled his wand out of the troll's nose and bent to wipe it off. Ron stood across the room, staring at his old hand-me-down wand, a dazed grin on his face. Hermione was still crumpled on the ground, shaking, her face pale. Draco took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, then immediately regretted it. Boy did the troll stink.

"Is it - dead?" Hermione spoke first, her voice higher than normal.

"I don't think so," Harry said. He inspected his wand. "Urgh, troll boogers."

Draco couldn't help it - he started giggling nervously. The Gryffindors turned to stare at him, and then suddenly the bathroom echoed with laughter. Harry clutched his wand in one arm, the other holding his stomach as he laughed. Ron's head was thrown back, his eyes sparkling. And even the little know-it-all Hermione was trying to hide her snorts as she leaned back against the wall.

Draco had just managed to stand up when he heard the door burst open. McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell rushed in. Snape bent to inspect the troll as McGonagall began to scold them. Draco wanted to turn invisible and pretend he wasn't there when Hermione spoke up.

"Please Professor McGonagall, they were looking for me. I went looking for the troll because I - I thought I could deal with it - because you know, I've read all about them."

Ron's wand clattered to the ground. Draco nearly slumped back onto the floor as he heard the lie roll off her tongue. Hermione? Lie?

McGonagall eyed her. Draco had the strange feeling that she knew that Hermione was fibbing. "Five points from Gryffindor. I am very disappointed in you," she said.

Draco watched as Hermione left. Then McGonagell turned to the remaining three boys.

"Potter, Weasley, and - Malfoy is it?" Draco forced a small nod and saw Snape look up from the troll.

McGonagall looked at them appraisingly. "Five points to your respective houses for each of you," she said. "Not many first years would have been able to do what you just did. However foolish, it takes both bravery and cunning to knock out a full-grown mountain troll. Professor Dumbledore will hear of this. You may leave."

The three boys nodded then left the bathroom. Once outside, Harry turned to Draco.

"Looks like I misjudged you," he said. He offered his hand. Shocked, Draco shook it.

Ron stared suspiciously at the Slytherin for a second, then his facial features relaxed. He also stuck out his hand. "If you hadn't pushed her away - blimey, well, you saved Hermione's life there." Draco also grasped it.

"Looks like you aren't the wrong sort after all," he replied, feeling a smile sneak its way across his face.

The three boys grinned at each other for a minute. There was an embarrassing pause, then they quickly said their goodbyes and turned away to return to their Houses.

However unlikely, from that moment on, Draco, Hermione, Ron, and Harry became friends. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.

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**Please review! I plan on following the plot of the books. Draco is less of a brat but is still very Slytherin. As he grows up and You-Know-Who rises, which side will he choose? **


	2. Quidditch

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

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"Your House is really in for it this time, Slytherin! We got Potter now. You guys have no hope," Ron said, his eyes bright with excitement, lugging a large poster that said _Potter for President_ under his arm. It was the big day – Gryffindor versus Slytherin – and Harry's first Quidditch match.

"Seekers are always the ones getting clobbered. And Harry is new - a shiny new broom won't make up for lack of experience. I wouldn't be surprised if he falls off his broom," Draco scoffed. His upper lip twisted into a sneer as he spoke, a habit of his. It made him look meaner than he was. Over the last few weeks since the troll incident, his Gryffindor friends had learned that Draco had a biting and sometimes mean sense of humor, but the boy under it all was surprisingly generous and fiercely loyal.

"Oh stop fighting you two," Hermione said. "I do hope Harry will be alright though. He didn't eat a bite this morning," she continued, worriedly.

Draco and Ron ignored her and continued mercilessly teasing each other as the three of them walked together to the Quidditch pitch. There, they separated to join their respective Houses.

Vince and Greg had saved him a seat. Draco took his place between them just as Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. The game had begun! He pointed his binoculars up to the sky, following the Quaffle as it passed back and forth between the Gryffindors and Slytherins. He felt a pang of jealousy when he spotted Harry looping around the field in search of the Snitch but quickly forgot it as the excitement of the game overtook him. Every time his team passed the Quaffle through a hoop, he leapt to his feet and cheered loudly. Things were looking good for his House.

The score was twenty to sixty in favor of Slytherin when people suddenly started pointing off to the side. Draco fiddled with his binoculars to zoom in on what they were looking at…and saw Harry's broom rolling over and over, with the young Gryffindor Seeker, pale and white-knuckled, barely hanging on. _What was he doing?_ Draco thought frantically. _Had Potter cracked under the pressure? _From what he knew of his friend, it didn't seem likely. He had only been joking with Ron when he said that Harry might fall off his broom. He gasped with everyone else when Harry slipped from his broom, holding on with only one hand.

Then he spotted a certain bushy-haired brunette making her way towards the Slytherin crowd from across the stands. She seemed to be focused on something three or four rows ahead of him. He lowered his binoculars to watch curiously as she hurried along, not even stopping when she knocked Professor Quirrell aside. The strange little professor's turban slipped a little and Draco smirked – then froze.

A few strips of the turban had come loose around the back of Professor Quirrell's head. A small gap had appeared and two red eyes were staring straight back into Draco's grey ones.

His heart seized with fear and he suddenly felt very cold. He felt himself shivering and a low whimper escaped his lips. The eyes seemed to stare into his soul, riffling through his thoughts, digging deeply into his very being. He continued to hear gasps and yells from the crowd, but the noise seemed so very far away, more like a light buzzing around his ears than a roar. But try as he might, Draco could not tear his gaze away.

Then Professor Quirrell's hands came up to rearrange his turban, hiding the red eyes.

Draco looked around to see if anyone else had seen the red eyes. Hermione had disappeared. Everyone else was watching Harry as he clambered back onto his broom. As soon as he regained control, the young Seeker went into a steep dive. Suddenly, he clapped his hand to his mouth. The Snitch!

Draco's legs collapsed under him and he sat down with a gasp. His lungs sucked in air furiously. He hadn't realized that he had been holding his breath. His hands were still shaking and the inside of his robes were soaked in cold sweat.

Greg looked down at him. "You alright there, Draco?" he asked.

Draco's tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth. He nodded silently, his overworked mind finally beginning to process what he had just seen. It was impossible. People simply didn't have eyes – particularly red ones – on the back of their heads. He must have imagined it. He must have!

Greg looked at his blonde friend with concern. "Are you just upset that we lost?" he asked slowly.

Draco jumped at the opportunity for an excuse. "Yes," he said faintly, finding his tongue could move again. He cleared his throat, beginning to get a grasp on himself. "Yes," he repeated, his voice stronger. It must have been his imagination in the heat of the moment. He stood and glanced down to see Harry being carried off the Quidditch pitch by the members of his team, his hand still grasped firmly around the Snitch. The Gryffindors had won, one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Blast it all!

Behind him, Pansy Parkinson was complaining to the other Slytherin girls. "I can't believe Potter got back onto his broom, and then nearly swallowed the Snitch! If you ask me he only got it by pure luck."

"I still don't think that it is right that he gets to play. He is just a first year, like us," Millicent Bulstrode replied.

Draco went to find his Gryffindor friends, multiple emotions running through him like lightning. The shame of his House losing, the shock of Potter's dramatic performance, and the fear of – no, he mustn't think of that.

* * *

He soon found himself seated with his three friends around a small table in Hagrid's hut while a pot of strong tea bubbled in the fireplace. Draco still didn't think much of the large gamekeeper, but kept his thoughts to himself.

"It was Snape," Ron said. "Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, Harry, muttering, and he wouldn't take his eyes off of you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

"I don't believe it." Draco also protested. An image of the red eyes flashed before him but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to dismiss the image. A figment of your imagination, he told himself firmly. Professor Quirrell was the most pathetic of all their teachers. It was just his mind playing tricks on him. He nodded his thanks as Hermione handed him a cup of steaming tea.

"You don't see how horrible he is because you're a Slytherin but he treats us Gryffindors like dirt," Ron said to him. "Besides, wasn't he a former Death Eater?"

Draco stood up abruptly, his cup of tea sloshing over onto the table. "What do you mean by that, Ron? My father was a former Death Eater as well," he said frostily. "If you don't trust Professor Snape for that reason, then are you saying that my own father can't be trusted either?" His grey eyes flashed dangerously, and his expression was proud and disdainful.

"Well maybe I am! My dad says _your_ father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side," Ron retorted.

Draco felt his breath catch in his throat. His cheeks stung as if he had been slapped. He gritted his teeth to prevent saying something he might regret. Spinning on his heel, he strode out of the hut.

He heard running footsteps behind him, then someone placed a hand on his shoulder. "He didn't mean it," Harry said. "We know you are our friend."

Draco stopped walking but couldn't bring himself to look at Harry. "My father is the best man I know," he said. When Harry didn't reply, he finally turned. He saw pain in his friend's green eyes. _That's right, his parents are dead_, he remembered. Awkwardly, he kept talking. "He was – was cursed. You know, the Imperius Curse, forced to do things against his will. Like Snape, he was pardoned after the war." He didn't quite know why he was blabbing like this, but somehow it felt good to tell this to Harry.

"I'm sure your dad is a good man at heart," Harry said. He threw his arm around the Slytherin. "Come on, we haven't finished talking."

When they re-entered the hut, Draco spared a quick glance at Ron. His friend's face was as red as his hair and he was gazing down into his cup. He looked up when Draco sat down, but avoided eye contact. "Sorry," he muttered. Draco thought he didn't sound sorry at all. "It's alright," he said coldly, although his tone said otherwise.

Hermione frowned at him but said nothing. Hagrid cleared his throat and reached for the teapot to refill Draco's cup. Harry finally broke the awkward silence. "Anyway Hagrid, as I was saying, I found out something about Snape earlier," he said. "He tried to get past the three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. I think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot. "How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"_Fluffy?_"

As Hagrid and his friends argued, Draco couldn't help but feel thankful for Hagrid's defense of Professor Snape. The Potions Master was slowly becoming Draco's favorite teacher. He found himself agreeing with Hagrid.

"Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all of yeh – yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel -"

"Aha!" said Harry, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious at himself, but there was nothing he could do to take back his words.

* * *

**Think before you speak, folks! Please review. Feel free to be critical. I try to keep characters as true to their book personalities as possible (except Draco of course) but even then I am trying to keep his upbringing in mind. Thank you for reading!**


	3. Christmas

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

Draco pored over the pages of _Recent Developments in Wizardry_, searching for any mention of Nicolas Flamel. To his left, Harry was leafing through _Notable Magical Names of Our Time_. Across from him, Ron was skimming _Important Modern Magical Discoveries_ while munching on Chocolate Frogs. Draco's mother constantly sent him boxes of sweets, and he didn't mind sharing. Ron's face had softened when Draco brought in the candy, but he still hadn't apologized sincerely. Draco hid his own emotions – it was something that he was very good at – and thus treated Ron politely, but hadn't quite forgiven the redhead yet. He missed the jokes and friendly rivalry that he had shared with Ron, but the young Slytherin wasn't the forgiving type.

He heard someone approaching their table and looked up. Hermione was carrying a stack of books taller than she was, and barely managed to set it on the table without falling over. "Any luck, boys?" she asked.

Harry leaned back and groaned, running a hand through his messy black hair, causing the back of it to stick up even more. He reached for a Chocolate Frog. "No mention of Nicolas Flamel here."

"Nor here," Ron said glumly.

"Nope," Draco sighed.

They all glanced over at the table next to theirs, already piled high with books. Harry shoved his current book aside and reached for another. "One more before dinnertime," he said.

Draco rubbed his eyes tiredly. Between doing research on Flamel and their heavy load of homework, the last two weeks had been dreadful. He didn't know how Hermione managed to keep up with everything – and still do extra reading. She had even been asking professors for extra homework! Crazy little witch…

"What are your plans for Christmas?" he asked his friends, wanting to take a break.

"My parents are going to Romania to visit Charlie," Ron explained. "So I'm staying here."

Harry frowned. "Staying here, I suppose," he said. "Better that than returning to the Dursleys."

Draco smiled sympathetically. "If I had to go live with Muggles for the holidays, I would want to stay at Hogwarts too."

The words had barely left his mouth before Hermione rounded on him. "How dare you!" she hissed, struggling to keep her voice down. "I am going home for the holidays. And for your information, my parents are much nicer than _some_ wizards I know and I miss them very much!"

Draco thought she was about to burst into tears, but to her credit she simply turned and stomped off.

Ron stared after the girl. "Blimey, Draco, you've made her REALLY mad this time!"

Harry simply cracked open the new book before him, looked down, and sighed, slowly massaging his temples with his hands. He was still, Draco knew, preoccupied with preventing Professor Snape from doing – well, whatever he wanted to do. The Slytherin still agreed with Hagrid and thought that his friend was being rather foolish.

Draco got up and ran after the little witch, catching up to her just outside of the Library. She was hurrying away rather rapidly, and Draco had to rush just to keep up.

"I'm sorry, Hermione! Honest, I'm sorry, but it's just – well, my dad always said – "

"If your dad said the sky was orange, would you believe him?" Hermione huffed.

Draco blinked. "Well the sky _is_ orange sometimes, at sunset and sunrise, isn't it?" he asked slyly.

"You are impossible, Draco Malfoy!" Hermione yelled, although she cracked a smile. She suddenly stopped walking and turned to him. Surprised, he very nearly bumped into her.

"Draco, look, I get it. Your dad doesn't like _my kind_." She choked on those words. "But Ron's dad doesn't like your dad either and – oh, Draco, it's just a big mess the adults have going on. But we can't let that affect us. We are friends, right?" She looked searchingly at him.

Draco nodded, looking deep into her wide brown eyes. "We are friends, Hermione." He held up a hand, palm facing outward as if taking an oath. "I, Draco Malfoy, solemnly swear that I am, and will forever be, a true and loyal friend of Hermione Granger, even if she is being a know-it-all little witch – "

Relief blossomed in Hermione's eyes. She giggled and punched him lightly in the arm. "Knock it off, Draco." Then unexpectedly, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm going to miss you during winter vacation," she murmured into his shoulder.

Draco had never hugged a girl before. Well, besides his mother but she didn't count. He didn't quite know what to do. Gingerly, he returned her embrace. "I'll miss you too, Hermione," he said.

And with that one simple confession, a tiny seed was planted deep in the young Slytherin's heart. Whether it would sprout and grow or not, no one could tell. Yet it remained there, burrowing itself deeper and deeper, until it was buried so deep that it could not ever be removed, even if anyone tried.

* * *

The Christmas holidays couldn't come fast enough. While Draco enjoyed being at Hogwarts and studying magic, he also missed home. As an only child, his mother and father doted on him and he was looking forward to being at the center of attention again.

He met his father, Lucius Malfoy, at the train station. They walked a short distance to an Apparition point. Grasping his father's arm firmly, he felt the gut-wrenching squeezing sensation of Side-Along Apparition – and then they were there, standing before two impressive wrought-iron gates. Home. Covered in snow, Draco thought Malfoy Manor was the most beautiful place in the world. The first thing Draco did when he entered the Manor was rush upstairs and sprawl on his fluffy king-sized bed. Yes, being home felt good.

His parents had ordered the house elves to prepare some of Draco's favorite food for dinner. His mother was carving the roast duck and placing the choiciest cuts on Draco's plate, the buttery mashed potatoes sat steaming on another plate, the treacle pudding waiting in the kitchen and – oh, the tomato soup was heavenly. The eleven-year-old boy slurped happily from his bowl. While food at Hogwarts was good, nothing could beat the Malfoy Manor's house elves' cooking.

Lucius looked at Draco from the head of the table. "So, tell me about your friends."

Eager to please, Draco proudly said, "I'm good friends with Harry Potter, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, and Hermione Granger." He purposefully left out Ron's name, knowing that his father severely disliked the Weasleys. _It's not about being disloyal_, he thought to himself._ It's about picking your battles_.

At the mention of Harry Potter, his father's pale eyebrows rose in surprise, but his thin lips curved in a sly smile. The Boy Who Lived would certainly be a powerful ally for Draco to cultivate while in school. Lucius was very pleased.

"Who is Hermione Granger?" Narcissa asked.

Oh shoot. He had forgotten about his family's aversion for Mudbloods. "She's a - a very bright witch," he stuttered. "Top of our class." He tried to change the subject. "Except for Potions. I'm doing the best in Potions. I was the only person in class who got the Forgetfulness Potion right on the first try –"

"Granger…Granger…that name doesn't ring a bell," Lucius continued to muse. "Is she from England?"

Draco winced. "Yes."

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "She's Muggleborn isn't she?"

Draco looked down at his bowl and fiddled with his spoon.

"Answer me, boy."

"Yes she is," he muttered sullenly.

"You let a Mudblood best you in your classes? I expected better from you Draco." His father's voice sounded like newly drawn steel.

Draco hung his head and snuck a look at his mother. His heart fell when he saw her expression. He had never seen her look so disappointed in him. The tomato soup suddenly didn't taste so good. The mashed potatoes were too salty and the roast duck was dry. He choked down a few more bites, and then asked to be excused before the treacle pudding was brought out.

The rest of winter vacation, Draco could barely look his parents in the eye. He felt so ashamed. He dragged himself from his room only for meals, spending the rest of his time holed up playing with his childhood potions set. All of the potions were far too simple for him now, but at least counting the strokes as he stirred and watching the tiny cauldron bubble took his mind off of his parents' displeasure.

Christmas Day came. He was showered with expensive gifts: a luxurious eagle-feather quill and handsome dress robes from his mother, and a gorgeous pair of dragon hide boots from his father.

Yet the objects felt just like that – mere objects. What Draco really wanted, and craved, was much more nebulous and valuable. He wanted his parents' approval.

Despite his prior eagerness to return home, he now found himself wishing time would pass faster so he could leave. Finally, the day came. His father took him back to the train station. As they were standing on Platform 9¾, his father bent down and laid a hand on his shoulder. Their grey eyes met and reflected each other, like cold polished stone meeting a stormy winter sky.

"I love you, son. I just want the best for you. Always remember that you are a Pureblood wizard. Not just any Pureblood, you are a Malfoy. And we Malfoys always come out on top. Make me proud, Draco."

Draco nodded. "I will, Dad," he replied, determined to succeed.

* * *

**Please review! Thanks for reading XOXO.**


	4. The Mirror of Erised

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

It was three days before the term started. Draco was glad that he had chosen to return early. He was determined to get a head start on his studies.

As soon as Draco arrived, Harry caught up with him in the courtyard. "Guess what I got for Christmas?" Harry said excitedly.

"What?"

"An Invisibility Cloak! The sender said that it belonged to my father."

Draco's mouth dropped open. An Invisibility Cloak! Those were very rare and _very_ valuable. He quashed the rising jealousy and forced a grin. "Have you used it yet?"

Harry took a quick look around to confirm no one was listening, then pulled Draco closer to whisper in his ear.

"I used it to sneak into the Restricted Section in the Library. I wanted to look up Nicolas Flamel, but the first book I opened started screaming so I ran. I almost got caught by Filch and Snape, so I went into this classroom and found this mirror. And it showed me my mom and dad." Harry seemed to be gazing at something far in the distance. "She really does have eyes just like mine."

"I'd like to see your mom and dad," Draco said, eyes wide.

"That's what Ron said, but I took him last night and he said that he saw something completely different."

"It must show something different to different people," Draco mused.

"Come, I'll take you," Harry insisted. "The Invisibility Cloak can cover us both. Can you sneak out tonight at midnight? I'll meet you by the statue of a flying pig on the third floor."

A wide grin split across Draco's face and he nodded.

"There you are, Harry! And Draco, you're back!" Ron's voice carried across the courtyard as he hurried to join his friends. When he saw the mischievous smiles on their faces, he frowned. He turned to Harry.

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back tonight."

"Why not?" Harry challenged.

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it. And anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. So what if Filch or Snape can't see you? What if they walk into you?"

"You sound like Hermione," Harry said, crossly. "And I took you last night. It's only fair that I take Draco tonight."

Ron knew that he had lost the argument. "I've got a bad feeling about this," he muttered. Harry caught Draco's eye and winked.

* * *

They met as planned. Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak around them both, and then dragged Draco along the empty hallways as fast as he could.

When they reached the classroom, Harry immediately pulled the Invisibility Cloak off to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the mirror. Draco looked curiously into the reflection, but saw nothing but Harry and himself. His brow furrowed. Was Harry lying to him? Yet his friend seemed to be staring raptly at his reflection.

"I don't see anything," he said. Harry didn't respond and Draco knelt down to give his friend a nudge.

"I'll let you see, just gimme a few more minutes," Harry mumbled. Draco had never seen someone so entranced.

Draco impatiently waited. A few minutes passed, and then he nudged Harry again. His friend sighed, and it seemed to take a great amount of effort for him to turn away. He clambered to his feet, and then showed Draco where to stand.

Draco gasped. For there was his father standing right behind him! He whirled around, frightened, an excuse for why he was out of bed after hours already rising to his lips. He saw nothing but Harry's bright green eyes staring back at him.

"Well? What do you see?"

Without replying, Draco turned back to the mirror and noticed what he hadn't before. His father was looking at him with an expression that he had never seen before. Instead of the usual self-righteous, haughty gaze, Lucius Malfoy's grey eyes held considerable warmth. And he was smiling widely. He nodded at Draco, and then placed an arm around his son's shoulders. Not possessively or coldly as he usually did, but in an embrace more reminiscent of a man who considered his son with respect and treated him as an equal. Draco could almost feel the weight of his father's arm, and his heart swelled with emotion.

"I see my father," Draco said thickly. "I think – I think he's proud of me."

He reached out his hand but touched only cold glass and Draco jerked back. Unknowingly, he had stepped closer to the mirror until his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.

"So – back again, Harry?"

Draco jumped and looked behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. He was looking kindly at Harry, and turned to Draco as well.

"And hello there young Draco."

Draco stood stock-still, his mouth dry. They had been caught! By the Headmaster himself!

"I – I didn't see you, sir," Harry stuttered.

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, turning back to Harry. The boys were relieved to see that he was smiling.

"So," said Dumbledore, addressing Harry. "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delight of the Mirror of Erised. You've realized by now what it does?"

"It – well – it shows me my family –"

"And it showed your friend Ron himself as Head Boy."

"How did you know-?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently. "Now, let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror; that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Draco could almost hear Harry's thoughts churning. Then the Gryffindor said slowly, "It shows us what we want…whatever we want…"

"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. And Draco here, who has never heard a single word of praise from his father, sees himself finally receiving the respect he craves.

Draco stared at the floor, mortified that his soul had been exposed so easily.

"It is nothing to be ashamed of, Draco," Dumbledore said comfortingly. Startled, the young Slytherin looked up to see Dumbledore watching him appraisingly.

The Headmaster turned back to Harry.

"However, this mirror gives neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad," he continued. "The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever _do_ run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. Now, why don't the two of you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

Back in his dormitory, Draco laid in his bed, staring out the window at the night sky. The stars reminded him of Dumbledore's eyes. They twinkled just as bright and held mysteries that Draco felt he would never understand.

* * *

The next day, Harry, Ron and Draco continued researching Flamel in the library, using a list of books that Hermione had left them. They had snuck in yet another box of Chocolate Frogs and were munching on them happily. Harry stood up and stretched. "Be right back, restroom," he said.

Ron and Draco were left in awkward silence. Draco studiously ignored Ron's eyes on him.

"Draco, thank you for bringing these," said Ron quietly, waving a Chocolate Frog.

"No problem, my mother sent a whole case back with me," Draco replied, his tone polite but chilly.

He kept his eyes focused on the book before him. Ron's discomfort was almost palpable. _By Merlin, just spit it out already.__.._

"Sometimes I wish - wish that I were you," the redhead spilled out. Draco blinked in surprised and looked up.

Ron blushed furiously. "I meant to say, that I wish I had as much money as you," he corrected, avoiding Draco's eyes. "You don't know what it's like – you're an only child right? And your family is filthy rich – well all my things have been owned by someone else..."

"Sometimes I wish I were you too," Draco said quietly. He fiddled with his new quill. "It would be nice to have older brothers watching out for me."

Ron was quiet for a long minute, and Draco was suddenly afraid that he had said something wrong again.

"I'm sorry for what I said that day in Hagrid's hut," the word stumbled as they spilled from Ron's mouth. "About your father, I shouldn't have said that, it was rude and – "

Draco waved his hand. "Forget it," he said gruffly.

They finally really looked at each other for the first time in weeks, grinning foolishly. A warm feeling swept over Draco. It was almost as if they had defeated yet another twelve-foot mountain troll, but one that was invisible and took twice as much courage to overcome.

* * *

**To all the followers of this story, thank you so much for the support! I plan on covering all seven books. However, I have not yet decided whether I should split it into a different story for each book or just keep it all together as one very long story. Please send me a private message if you have any suggestions.**


	5. Nicolas Flamel

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

Harry was telling his friends about his nightmares. "There is always a flash of green light. And my parents disappearing. And then the worst part is the laughter – it's so cruel, so cold – "

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said Ron.

Draco shuddered. He himself hadn't been sleeping well either. Every night when he closed his eyes he saw those red eyes peering at him through Professor Quirrell's turban. Perhaps the mirror was affecting him as well…

School had started again. The weather outside was as dreary as Draco felt. The piles of schoolwork never seemed to diminish. He had thrown himself back into his studies with renewed vigor, reading ahead for every class, being sure to borrow an extra book from the Library every week, but still he felt as if he were drowning.

He bid his Gryffindor friends goodbye, planning on doing some Transfiguration homework in the Slytherin common room. When he entered, Blaise Zabini was swaggering around in front of some of the first year girls.

"What are you so proud of yourself for?" Draco drawled.

Blaise smiled. "That Gryffindor, the clumsy one, Neil or whatever his name is, tripped over himself near the library and nearly knocked me over, so I hit him with a Leg-Locker Curse. The stupid git, he didn't know the countercurse. You should have seen him hopping away!"

He mimed the bunny hop and the Slytherin girls exploded into laughter. Draco allowed himself a smirk before he suddenly remembered that he had wanted to check out a copy of _The Ultimate Reference Guide for Transfiguration_ from the Library to help him with his homework.

He made his way back up from the Slytherin Dungeons and was on the third floor walking towards the Library when he turned a corner and stopped.

It was the round-faced Gryffindor that Blaise had cursed. The boy was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, breathing heavily. Draco stepped closer, trying to recall his name. _Neil? Ned? _Suddenly he remembered. _Oh, right. Neville._ _Neville Longbottom_.

The boy cracked open his eyes. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Hopping – gets – tiring," Neville panted.

"It's your own fault for not knowing the countercurse," Draco sneered.

Neville closed his eyes again and seemed to wilt against the wall. "Don't – I – know – it," he muttered.

Draco rolled his eyes. Didn't the silly boy realize that his weakness just made him an easy target? If it were Draco, he would have been yelling bloody murder for someone to bring him a copy of _A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions _to free himself.

But of course, he wouldn't have been in this situation in the first place since he knew the countercurse from all the extra reading he had been doing. It was moderately difficult, actually. He couldn't really fault Neville for not knowing it. The Leg-Locker Curse was not usually taught to first years and it was rather impressive for Blaise to have performed it successfully.

"What's in it for me if I help you?" Draco asked slyly.

Neville opened his eyes again, and Draco was suddenly taken aback by the hurt and ferocity in the boy's eyes. "I don't need your help, _Slytherin_," he said coolly. He pushed himself off the wall and began laboriously hopping down the hall.

Draco rolled his eyes again. Neville had always seemed to be such a pushover. Who knew that he had some spunk in him after all?

Bemused, the Slytherin quietly followed Neville as he hopped along. When they came to the stairs leading up to the fourth floor, Neville groaned. There was no way he was going to make it all the way up to Gryffindor Tower. He leaned on the handrail to catch his breath when he noticed Draco behind him.

Draco couldn't help but notice the frightened look that the other boy gave him. Inwardly, he sighed. Neville really was easy to tease.

"I'll tell you the countercurse if you tell me the password to the Gryffindor common room," he said, with as straight of a face as he could muster.

Neville looked shocked. "I – would – NEVER – you FILTHY Slytherin," he sputtered.

Draco felt rage bubbling up at being called "filthy", but the look on Neville's face was too amusing and he chuckled darkly. He pulled out his wand.

Neville's eyes grew as large as saucers and the blood drained from his face.

"Relax," Draco said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes yet again. "I was joking. You take things too seriously." He pointed his wand at Neville's legs.

"_Locomotor Vita_," he murmured.

Neville clutched at the handrail to keep himself from falling over as he regained control over his legs. He was trembling and looked as if he might cry.

"Really, Longbottom, sometimes I wonder if you are in the right House," Draco laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

Just then he heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"Oh hey Draco – and Neville!" Hermione cried out in surprised and rushed to the shaking Gryffindor. "Lavender Brown saw what happened to you and ran to come tell us. We were looking for you! Are you alright?"

Neville nodded. "Malfoy undid the curse," he said quietly, looking down at his shoes.

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged. "Report Zabini!"

Neville shook his head, refusing to look up. "I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.

"You've got to stand up to bullies, Neville!" said Ron. "Zabini's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville choked out.

Draco's jaw dropped in surprise. "That's not what I meant! I was just – just trying to make a joke," he said, lamely.

He noticed Harry rummaging in the pocket of his robes and pulling out a Chocolate Frog. He handed it to Neville. "You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry said, catching Draco's eye. He winked conspiratorially. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where is Draco? In stinking Slytherin."

"Why you –" Draco growled playfully, punching Harry on the shoulder.

The boys roughhoused a bit, throwing insults back and forth. Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog.

"Thanks, Harry… I think I'll go to bed. D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?"

As Neville trudged up the stairs, Harry looked at the Famous Wizard card.

"Dumbledore again," he said, "He was the first one I ever –"

He gasped.

"_I've found him!_" he whispered. "Listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, _and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel'_!"

The four students raced down the hall to the Library. Without referring to the catalog, Hermione ran directly to the Alchemy section and pulled out an enormous old book.

"I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I was planning on reading this next week for a bit of light reading."

"_Light?_" said Ron.

"As a phoenix feather," remarked Draco dryly. _Merlin, how could I ever keep up with THAT?_, he thought.

"Be quiet," Hermione hissed, flicking frantically through the pages. At last she found what she was looking for.

"I knew it! I _knew_ it! Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the _only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone_!"

Draco's eyes widened but Harry and Ron stared at her blankly.

"Look – read that, there." Hermione pushed the book toward them.

They read.

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Harry. "No wonder Snape's after it! _Anyone_ would want it."

Draco huffed. "I still don't believe Snape would do such a thing."

"Who else could have been trying to knock Harry off his broom then?" Ron asked.

A dark idea formed in Draco's mind. "I think – it might be Professor Quirrell," he said seriously.

The three Gryffindors stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. Draco's cheeks flushed pink.

"Quiet down over there!" Madam Pince the librarian peered around a bookshelf and brandished a feather duster at them.

"Sorry ma'am," Hermione called.

Ron stifled his giggles. "The mirror has really got you going bonkers," he whispered.

"Quirrell wouldn't dare," scoffed Harry. "He jumps at his own shadow. There is no way he would even be able to _look_ at Fluffy without fainting."

Only Hermione didn't dismiss the idea entirely. "Why do you think that, Draco?"

But Draco was too embarrassed to tell the truth. _Just a figment of my imagination_, he thought. Why had he even bothered to speak up?

He put his trademark smirk on his face. "I was kidding," he said.

But as he lay in bed that night, turning fitfully in his sleep, the image of the red eyes continued to haunt him.

* * *

**Since the Leg-Locker Curse is **_**Locomotor Mortis (death)**_**, I figured that it would be appropriate for the countercurse to be **_**Locomotor Vita (life).**_** Also, thanks for the positive feedback. It is so encouraging and inspires me to write the best I can for you! As always, thanks for reading.**


	6. The Unicorn

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

Draco impatiently paced along the corridor beneath the tallest Astronomy Tower. Every so often he glanced suspiciously around the dim lighting of the hall for any sign of Filch or Mrs Norris. How did he get himself into this?

It was that baby dragon – Norbert. He snorted. Hagrid was crazy for it, treating it as if it were a cute fluffy bunny. But Ron, who had landed in the Infirmary after being bitten, was proof otherwise. Not only did the bite fester, but Norbert had also turned out to be _poisonous_. Draco remembered being extremely frustrated at Hagrid for being so careless and oblivious. But luckily his three Gryffindor friends had found a way to get Norbert out of Hogwarts without endangering Hagrid.

But then they had wheedled and begged until he had agreed to help. He was to act as lookout; to let them know if it was safe to go up the tower, and to make sure it was safe coming down.

And that's why he was there. To play at being a guard. But his friends were more than thirty minutes late! He glanced miserably at his pocket watch.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, someone grabbed his ear. He jerked in pain and blindly tried to scrabble away.

"Detention!" his attacker shouted.

By Merlin's Beard, it was Professor McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor House! How had she snuck up on him!? Draco wilted miserably in her grasp.

"And twenty points from Slytherin!" she continued furiously. "Wandering around in the middle of the night, how _dare_ you. Come on – I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

* * *

He couldn't believe it when he heard. Hermione and Harry had gotten themselves caught as well. And Neville, too, had somehow gotten dragged into the mess. Only one thing had gone according to plan: the dragon was finally gone.

"How could you have forgotten the Invisibility Cloak at the tower?" he snapped at Harry, irritated.

"It was a heat-of-the-moment kind of thing. And if _you_ hadn't been caught maybe we wouldn't all have detention," Harry retorted.

Draco felt like punching a wall. At least he had lost his House only twenty points, not a hundred and fifty. With this massive decrease in points for Gryffindor, his own House had been propelled to the clear lead for the House Cup. The rest of the Slytherins were gleeful and kept calling to Harry, "Thanks Potter, we owe you one!"

At breakfast, a plain white notecard was delivered to Draco:

_Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall._

_Professor M. McGonagall_

Draco glanced over at the Gryffindor table and saw Hermione, Harry, and Neville all holding similar white notecards as well.

And that was how Draco found himself being marching across the grounds by Filch with Harry, Hermione, Neville. The moon was bright, but clouds drifting across it kept throwing them into darkness.

"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."

Hagrid! Draco didn't know whether to be delighted or afraid. After the dragon fiasco, he was leaning towards the latter.

Harry was smiling. Filch glared at the Gryffindor and said nastily, "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy – it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

At this, Neville let out a little moan, and Draco stopped dead in his tracks.

"The forest?" he repeated, stunned. He had been right to feel afraid. "We can't go in there at night – there's all sorts of things in there – werewolves, I heard."

Behind him, Neville made a choking noise.

"Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?" Filch cackled with glee.

Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark, his boarhound, Fang, at his heel. He was carrying a large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder. Draco reached into his robes and gripped his wand for comfort, realizing it would be his only weapon.

"I'll be back at dawn," said Filch, "for what's left of them." He sniggered, then turned back to the castle.

Hagrid led them to the edge of the forest. Draco's sense of dread pricked up more and more as they approached. He wasn't sure if the forest usually exuded such an ominous aura, or if it was just this particular night. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the forest, and Draco shivered.

He felt Hermione grab his arm and turned his head to see her also holding Harry's hand. On Harry's other side, Neville was moaning and clutching tightly at the sleeve of Harry's robe.

"Look there," said Hagrid, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood." Draco heard Hermione give a little gasp of horror and tried to stay focus on what Hagrid was saying. "There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."

Draco couldn't keep it in anymore. "This sort of work is not for students to do," he said, hotly. "I thought we'd be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd-"

"- tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid growled. "Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled -"

Draco interrupted him. "But isn't this dangerous? What if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" he said, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

Hagrid's expression softened. "There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," he said. "Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least."

They practiced sending up green sparks for if they find the unicorn, and red sparks for if they get in trouble. Then Draco, Neville, and Fang set off in one direction, while Hagrid, Harry, and Hermione went the other.

They walked in silence, their eyes on the ground. Every now and then a ray of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves. Neville had transferred his white-knuckled grip on Harry's sleeve to Draco's, which hindered Draco's movements. He found it very irritating. The Gryffindor also seemed unable to stop himself from letting out a whimper every few steps. Draco kept a firm grasp on his wand, sure that if anything happened that he would be the only one able to defend himself.

Suddenly something seemed to pull on Neville, dragging Draco along. A low branch smacked Draco across the head and he saw stars. He heard Fang barking and howling loudly. Both boys clutched at each other and screamed shrilly as every shadow seemed to close in claustrophobically on them. Draco swore he saw eyes – or maybe he was just seeing things –

"_Periculum!_" screamed the boy next to him.

Draco returned to his senses as a red spark shot up from Neville's wand to hover in the sky. The boy really did belong in Gryffindor, he thought. He flushed pink; he himself had simply screamed like a little girl. Suddenly, he realized nothing had attacked them. He glanced at the other boy, who looked muddy but unharmed, then looked at Fang, who was simply sitting on his haunches, making a ruckus.

"Did something attack you?" he asked Neville.

"I – I – I'm not sure," Neville stammered.

"Why did you drag me down then?"

"I…" Neville looked away. "I tripped," he said softly.

Draco exploded. "You TRIPPED? That's it? You blundering idiot!" he shouted. He buried his face in his hands, then winced and touched the bump on the side of his head tenderly. He took a deep breath, suddenly feeling woozy. Grasping ahold of a branch next to him, he slowly pulled himself to his feet.

"Neville! Draco!" he heard Hagrid crashing through the forest towards them. "Is everythin' alright?" he asked, looking them up and down.

"Yeah," Draco said coldly. "Neville tripped."

He watched impassively as Hagrid's face flickered through many emotions - relief, anger, disbelief, and frustration – then finally settled on resignation.

"Well, boys," he said gruffly, "Come along wi' me."

He led them to Hermione and Harry, and then reassigned the groups. Draco was relieved to be paired with Harry this time. The two of them and Fang set off again into the heart of the forest. They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick.

"I think the blood is getting thicker," Harry whispered. Draco nodded. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. Suddenly Harry threw out his arm, stopping Draco in his tracks.

"Look – " his friend murmured.

Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.

It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Draco had never seen anything so beautiful and sad.

Harry had taken one more step toward it when a slithering sound froze them both where they stood. Draco peered into the darkness. …Then out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Draco, Harry, and Fang stood transfixed. It reached for the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.

Draco had panicked once already that night and refused to panic again. Yet his brain didn't seem to be working quite right. He was thinking as hard as he could when he felt Harry suddenly twist away. He turned to see his friend staggering backward, clutching his forehead, his expression one of terrible pain…

He reached out to his friend, trying to hold him up, and then looked over his shoulder. They had made too much noise. The hooded figure raised its head and looked straight at them. It was getting to its feet – unicorn blood was dribbling down its front – and started coming swiftly at the boys – Fang yelp once then ran away – he couldn't move for fear –

Then he heard hooves behind him, galloping, and something jumped clean over both of them, charging at the figure.

Harry fell from his grasp and collapsed. Draco fumbled for his wand. "_Periculum!_" he yelled, sending a red flare up. Then he knelt by his friend, who was writhing on the ground.

"Harry! Harry!"

The black-haired boy didn't seem to hear him.

Draco was sure that his friend was dying, but couldn't bear to look away.

And then as suddenly as it had come, Harry relaxed. For a dreadful second Draco thought he had died, and then the Gryffindor cracked open his eyes.

"My – my scar was hurting," he whispered. Then he gasped. "Draco, you're bleeding."

Draco gingerly touched the lump on the side of his head again, this time his fingers coming away sticky.

"Yeah," he said, faintly.

"Are you two all right?" a strong baritone voice rang out.

They both looked up to see a centaur standing over them. He had white-blonde hair and a palomino body.

"Yes – thank you –" said Harry. "What _was_ that?"

The centaur didn't answer. He looked carefully at Harry, his eyes lingering on the scar that stood out, livid, on Harry's forehead.

"You are the Potter boy," he said harshly. "You must get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time – especially not for you. I see you sent up a flare," he nodded at Draco. "Hagrid should be here soon."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"What is your name?" Harry asked, timidly, apparently wanting to make conversation.

Before the centaur could reply, Draco heard more galloping, and two more centaurs burst through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty.

They started shouting and arguing.

Draco glanced at Harry, glad to see confusion also written all over his friend's face.

Finally, the two turned and galloped off. The blonde centaur sighed and looked back down at the two young boys.

"My name is Firenze," he said.

"Why were they so angry?" Harry asked. "What was that thing you saved me from anyway?"

"Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

As the centaur talked with Harry, Draco glanced again at the dead unicorn and shivered. _What a horrible night_, he thought. As he listened to the conversation beside him, he felt more and more tired. He sat back against a tree trunk and closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about the poor unicorn…or the Sorcerer's Stone…or the potential rise of the Dark Lord…he just wanted to sleep…

* * *

**Please review. And to all the new follows, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Hope you guys will enjoy what I have planned next!**


	7. Under the Trapdoor

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

Draco woke up with a startle. Instead of his usual nightmare of the red eyes, he had been dreaming about a dark forest… unicorns…and centaurs…and a dark, hooded figure…

He finally realized that he wasn't in his dormitory. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets instead of emerald green. Raising his head, he tried to look around, but his vision blurred and he winced. His head was killing him. What had happened?

"Madam Pomfrey! He's awake!" he heard Ron's voice call out.

Gingerly, he turned his head to see Ron in the bed beside him. He must be in the hospital wing. He tried to speak, but coughed, his tongue feeling like sandpaper.

The Healer rushed over.

"Water," he croaked.

"Traipsing around in the Forbidden Forest," Madam Pomfrey scolded, as she conjured a glass of water. She clucked over Draco like a mother hen. "Simply _irresponsible_ for first years to be assigned there for detention… You had a concussion, dear. And no one even noticed until they couldn't wake you up! I gave Hagrid a good piece of my mind for putting you children in such danger... Now you let me know if you need anything else," she said kindly, and left.

He felt much better after drinking some water. The bits and pieces of his memory began piecing themselves together. Slowly, he pulled himself up.

Ron waved at him. "My hand is much better," Ron said, cheerfully. "But it's still green. Madam Pomfrey won't let me go until it returns to its normal color."

He looked around quickly, making sure Madam Pomfrey was nowhere near, and then continued, in quieter voice. "Harry already told me what happened. He thinks that Snape wants the Stone for – for You-Know-Who. And the centaurs seem to think that You-Know-Who is coming back…"

Draco sighed. "Ron, I thought we agreed that even if Snape is a former Death Eater that doesn't mean he still serves the Dark Lord," he said, crossly.

Ron looked at him oddly. "Why do you call him that? The D-dark Lord…" he shivered.

"It's – it's just what my father always calls him," Draco stammered.

He didn't like the look in Ron's eyes. Draco turned away.

"I'm tired," he said.

"Draco? I didn't mean anything by it, honest!"

The Slytherin didn't respond. And he really was tired. Slowly, sleep overtook him.

* * *

Several weeks later, Draco was sitting in a large room with all the students of his year, scribbling furiously with his quill. It was his very last exam, History of Magic. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Draco couldn't help cheering with the rest. They were finally free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione as they joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds. "I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."

"I should have read more about Gaspard Shingleton and his Self-Stirring Cauldron. I didn't realize the modern stuff would be covered so heavily," Draco moaned. "What year did he invent it again? 1989?"

"Correct. And the first one was sold in Potage's Cauldron Shop in 1991, right?" Hermione replied.

"Yeah," Draco confirmed.

Hermione and Draco always liked to go through their exam papers afterward, but Ron and Harry dragged them down to the lake. The four students flopped under a tree.

"No more studying," Ron sighed happily, stretching out on the grass. "You could look more cheerful, Harry, we've got a week before we found out how bad we've done, there's no need to worry yet."

Harry and Ron bantered back and forth, when Harry suddenly jumped to his feet.

"I've just thought of something," said Harry, his voice sounding very strange. Draco looked up lazily, and then was startled up as well. Something was very wrong. Harry's face had turned white. "We've got to go and see Hagrid, now!"

The four ran off towards Hagrid's hut.

They burst in on Hagrid shelling peas into a large bowl.

"Hullo," he said, smiling. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

"No, we're in a hurry," Harry said. "Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?"

As they continued to talk, Draco felt more and more queasy. And when Hagrid let slip that Fluffy calmed down when listening to music…

The four exchanged shocked glances, and then ran out of the hut. "We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harry.

But then Professor McGonagall told them that Dumbledore was gone…

"It's tonight," said Harry, once he was sure Professor McGonagall was out of earshot. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way..."

Draco didn't like it. But he had to admit that Harry's argument was very convincing – and things did seem to be falling in place in a very odd way. So when they asked him to meet up at 11 o'clock that night on the third floor, he agreed.

* * *

Dinnertime was rowdier than usual. Excitement and energy buzzed throughout the Great Hall as students celebrated the end of exams. "How come you've been hanging out with the Gryffindors so much, Draco?" Gregory Goyle asked, mouth full of pork chop.

Draco shrugged. "They're not that bad," he said.

Across the table, Blaise Zabini's eyes narrowed. "Really, Draco? I'm sure your father would be real pleased to know that you've been spending lots of time with that Mudblood Granger."

Before he realized it, Draco was on his feet, leaning across the table, with his wand digging into Blaise's throat.

"M-m-malfoy! Put your w-wand down!"

Draco turned to see Professor Quirrell standing behind him.

"C-c-come to my office after d-d-dinner," he said in his quivering voice.

"Yes sir," Draco said, eyes wide. His mind went racing over his Defense of Dark Arts exam. He was sure he had aced it. What on earth could Quirrell possibly want?

"Ooooh Malfoy is in trouble," Blaise sneered.

Draco's eyes flashed dangerously. He still had his wand out, but he sat down calmly. He directed his wand under the table. Turning his head towards Greg, he pretended to ignore Blaise, but instead murmured, "_Locomotor Mortis_."

He heard Blaise gasp. "_You filthy mud-eating scoundrel_-"

Draco turned back and looked at Blaise coldly. "Hm? What's that? Don't you remember the countercurse?" he mocked.

Blaise lunged at him but only succeeded in covering himself in gravy. The Slytherin table burst into jeering laughter.

After dinner, Draco walked up to the second floor to find Quirrell's office. He knocked on the door.

"Enter," the professor called out.

Draco stepped in and looked around. African tribal masks hung on the walls. To his left, a large bookshelf was filled with not only books, but also skulls. A telescope faced the window, and turbans and cushions were strewn on the floor.

There was an odd odor in the room.

"Ah, young Draco," Quirrell said. He stared at the boy with a strange, intense look on his face. Draco's skin prickled. Something about the professor's voice sounded different. _Where was his stutter…?_

"I know that you saw something very unusual, many months ago. At the Quidditch match, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin."

Draco gasped and turned back to door behind him, working furiously at the doorknob. It was locked.

He turned to see the professor slinking towards him, in a strangely familiar walk, like a beast stalking its prey. His eyes widened in recognition.

"It was you," he said hoarsely. "That night in the forest…with the unicorn…and you tricked Hagrid…"

Quirrell gave a harsh laugh. "Figured it out, eh? Took you long enough. You are the brightest in your class, besides the Granger girl of course." He grasped Draco's arm painfully. "And my master has told me that _you_ will be the one to help us in our quest tonight."

Draco twisted in his grasp.

"Don't struggle, or I'll kill you," the man hissed.

Draco fell limp.

Quirrell dragged him up to the third floor. He stopped in front of a door at the end of the corridor.

"_Alohomora_!" Quirrell tapped the lock. It clicked and the door swung open.

Low, rumbling growls reached Draco's ears. A large, three-headed dog was sniffing its way towards them.

Quirrell calmly pulled out a harp from under his other arm and started playing. Immediately, the dog's eyes began to droop. Soon the creature was fast asleep.

Quirrell nodded at the trapdoor. "Go on, Draco," he said, letting go of the boy's arm. He continued to pluck at the harp.

The young Slytherin felt the man watching him carefully as he moved forward and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open.

"The moment you land, Draco, run to the wall. Don't want the Devil's Snare getting ahold of you. Now jump."

"What?"

"I said JUMP!" the man roared.

Draco jumped.

Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell down, down, down and –

FLUMP. With a funny, muffled sort of thump he landed on something soft. Panicked by Quirrell's warning, he looked for the wall and ran. It was a struggle, as the plant kept trying to twist snakelike tendrils around his ankles. He heard the faint sound of the harp stop playing, and then a loud bark from the dog. For a second he allowed himself to hope that the dog had eaten Quirrell. Then he heard a grunt as the professor landed behind him and resigned himself to his fate.

Quirrell struggled to the wall beside him, and then grasped ahold of his arm again. They trudged down a damp stone passage.

At every obstacle, Draco hoped Quirrell would falter. Yet Quirrell managed to beat every puzzle. Even if it took him a while.

It took a whole hour for Quirrell to catch the flying key. Draco refused to help, instead flying aimlessly around. He had to delay as long as possible. Until his friends realized he was missing. Until 11 o'clock. He hoped that they would not wait for him, and would instead realize something was wrong.

The chess game took even longer. Sitting as a knight, Draco kept quiet unless he himself was about to get smashed. Which happened far too many times for comfort. Unfortunately, even though Quirrell was a miserable chess player, he never placed himself in danger.

The troll was defeated the quickest. His captor laughed to himself, and before Draco even knew what had happened, the monster was sprawled on the ground, knocked out cold with a bloody lump on its head.

Snape's riddle stumped Quirrell for yet another hour. He even threatened Draco, attempting to get the bright Slytherin to help. But when he realized that Draco was trying to trick him into drinking a bottle that contained poison, he left him alone.

The professor finally picked up the smallest bottle, rolling it between his fingers and looking at it carefully. Draco groaned inwardly. He had figured out the puzzle long before and knew it was the right one. Quirrell sipped at it, and then handed it to Draco.

"Drink," he snarled.

Draco took a small sip, hoping that he left enough for anyone who came behind. He shivered, feeling as if ice had flooded his body.

Quirrell took a deep breath, and renewed his grasp on Draco's arm. Together, they stepped through the dark fire.

* * *

**Writing this is really so much fun. This is my first fanfiction, and I am surprised by how much I can write! I am trying to blast out chapters as fast as possible and hope to finish by the end of summer. Thanks for reading, and please review.**


	8. The Sorcerer's Stone

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

They looked around the dim chamber. A gleaming golden mirror stood alone in the center of the room. Draco recognized it instantly. It was the Mirror of Erised.

Quirrell stepped up to the mirror, tapping his way around the frame. Finding nothing, he walked around the mirror to look at the back.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," the man murmured. He came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.

"I see the Stone…I'm presenting it to my master…drinking the Elixir of Life… but where is it? What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Draco's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"The boy… let me speak to him… face-to-face. …"

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough… for this. …"

Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

Draco opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. It was worse, far worse than any of his nightmares. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face. It was chalk white with slits for nostrils, like a snake. The red eyes glared unblinkingly at him.

"We meet again, dear Draco," it whispered. "You must be Lucius Malfoy's son. …You look just like your father…he was a trusted servant of mine. Very intelligent… Very loyal..."

Somehow Draco managed to speak. "He was – was under the Imperius Curse," he said, hoarsely.

"Is that what he says?" the voice said, coldly. "Let me see..." The red eyes stared deep into Draco's eyes.

And suddenly, horribly, his vision blurred. Image after image of his father raced through his mind like a flickering film so vivid that it blinded him to his surroundings…

The voice spoke, sounding very far away even though Draco knew it was coming from the face right in front of him.

"So that is how he stayed out of Azkaban…claiming to be cursed. _Such lies…_," the voice hissed. "_Lucius will pay…oh, yes, he will pay._" His tone suddenly shifted, becoming almost friendly. "But let me learn about _you_, Draco."

Draco winced as he felt Voldemort delving into another portion of his memories. Images of Harry, Ron, and Hermione flew through his mind…

"How interesting - you are good friends with Harry Potter…oh, and what is this…this _girl? You are also friends with a filthy MUDBLOOD!?_"

Draco cried out as a sudden headache pierced his skull. And as quickly as it came, the pain was gone. The voice continued.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Draco. … You were born to nobility and greatness… the magical blood runs pure through your veins…. you would be _nothing_ without your family, Draco. So how could you betray them?"

The voice flowed on like silk, smooth and soft. It was so gentle, so understanding. Draco felt himself sinking into despair at disappointing this voice. Indeed, how _could_ have he possibly befriended the frizzy-haired Mudblood? He had failed…he had sullied his family name, abandoned his entire heritage. He felt his stomach turn in disgust and bile rose up his throat.

The voice whispered convincingly.

"With the rise of these Muggleborns, you would lose it all… with their dirty blood, and the way they breed like cockroaches, spreading their filth wherever they go – your magic must be protected, Draco. _Protected_. Because without your family… without the purity of your blood… you would be nothing."

Draco whimpered. _I am nothing_, he thought. He vaguely felt his knees hitting the ground, though the pain seemed strangely numbed, and groveled on the ground.

The voice continued, sickeningly sweet.

"But there is a way to redeem yourself, Draco… If you get the Sorceror's Stone, I will let you present it to your father…he would be _so proud_ of you. And if you follow me, I can grant you power... Power beyond your wildest dreams…"

Despite himself, Draco felt his heart leap.

"Will you do this for me?"

Draco nodded.

"Show him the mirror, Quirrell…"

Professor Quirrell turned and Draco slumped to the ground, finally having broken eye contact. He rubbed at his eyes, his vision slow to return. _What had the Dark Lord done to him?_ Quirrell roughly grabbed his arm and pulled him up in front of the mirror.

_He had to find the Stone…find the Stone…_

He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection smiled. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back into its pocket – and as it did so, Draco felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow – incredibly – _he'd gotten the Stone_.

"Well, boy?" Quirrell demanded harshly. "Can you get it?"

Draco froze. _Did he dare?_ Slowly, he shook his head.

With an angry roar, Quirrell pushed him aside. Draco fell to the ground and the man started viciously kicking him. Draco heard several sickening cracks.

"Worthless piece of scum!" His boot connected with something tender on Draco's side and he curled up, gasping in pain, sure he was about to die.

Voldemort's voice hissed out. "_Stop, you idiot_! He lies….. He lies ….check his pocket…his pocket!"

But before Quirrell could react, a familiar voice shouted out.

"DRACOOOO!"

The young Slytherin's eyes popped open.

Somehow he could still speak. "NO HARRY!" he shouted. "It's HIM! RUNNN!"

"SHUT UP!" Quirrell screamed. Draco felt a heavy blow land on his head – stars exploded into his vision – then all went black.

* * *

Draco bolted straight upright, and then cried out as pain wracked his body.

Madam Pomfrey came running.

"Did he get the Stone?" Draco asked hoarsely, before she could speak.

The Healer tsked. "Don't you worry yourself about that now, let me examine you – "

Draco pulled away, determined to get an answer. "Did he get the Stone!?" he yelled. He had to know…had to know if he had unwittingly helped the Dark Lord return…

"No, Harry defended you until Dumbledore found you. And Quirrell is dead," Madam Pomfrey snapped. "Now lay still!"

Draco finally assented. The woman chattered as she examined him. "Second concussion within the month! I am astounded that your brain is still bouncing around that skull of yours, Mr. Malfoy. You must have an exceptionally hard head. And three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and bruised organs! No worries, you'll be as good as new tomorrow, but you need to take things easy this summer, you hear me?"

Draco nodded weakly. The warning wasn't necessary; he didn't plan on prancing around anytime soon.

"_Draco!_"

He looked up to see Ron and Hermione waving at him from outside the door.

"Absolutely not," said Madam Pomfrey.

"Just five minutes," Draco pleaded.

"Oh, very well," the Healer said. "But five minutes _only_."

And she let Ron and Hermione in.

"Oh, Draco, we were sure you had been too scared to come – when we heard that you and Harry were both – we were so worried – ," Hermione tackled Draco, then pulled away quickly when Draco gasped in pain.

"The whole school's talking about it," said Ron. "What _really_ happened?"

Draco told them everything, starting with the Quidditch match.

"So _that's _why you were suspicious of Quirrell!" Hermione cried.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Ron frowned.

"I thought you'd all laugh at me," Draco said. "Which you did, remember?"

When he reached the part where he looked into Voldemort's eyes, Hermione gasped. "He must have been performing Legilimency," she muttered.

"Legi-what?"

"_Legilimency_. It's a very difficult, very advanced spell – only very accomplished wizards can do it – it allows the caster to see into your mind."

"So like mind-reading?" Ron asked.

"No, it is far more complicated," Hermione said. "I don't fully understand it either…"

Draco continued on with his story, telling how he got the Stone, and how he heard Harry's voice, just in time.

"And then Quirrell kicked my head and all went black," he finished.

"I wonder how Harry managed to not get beaten up as well," Ron said, glancing at the bed next to him.

Draco raised his head slightly to see Harry slumbering. The table next to the Gryffindor's bed was piled high with sweets. Draco frowned, glancing at his own empty table. He wasn't really surprised – Slytherins weren't known for their thoughtfulness – but it still stung.

"He isn't hurt as bad as you but he hasn't woken up yet," said Hermione, worriedly. "And it's been almost three days!"

"Tell me about what you did," Draco said, wishing to take his mind off of his pain.

And so Ron and Hermione started talking: how they had waited for him for thirty minutes before deciding to go on; how they got past Fluffy; how Harry had caught the key within minutes; and Ron, who Draco knew was a brilliant chess player, had sacrificed himself to win the game; how Hermione had quickly solved Snape's riddle…

But before they could finish, Madam Pomfrey came bustling around the corner.

"You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT," she said firmly.

* * *

Draco was sleeping when he heard voices. He opened his eyes to see Dumbledore and Harry chatting. He quietly listened along for a few minutes before they noticed him watching.

"Ah, young Mr. Malfoy, you are awake. I am sorry for disturbing you," said Dumbledore. "I was just about to leave…but do you have any questions for me as well?"

Draco thought for a minute. "Just one," he finally said. "How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. "Only one who wanted to _find _the Stone – find it, but not use it – would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. Now, I must go. I suggest you help Mr. Potter make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavored one – but I think I'll be quite safe with a nice toffee, don't you?"

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, "Alas! Ear wax!"

After he left, Draco snidely remarked to Harry.

"How do you reckon he knows what ear wax tastes like?"

The boys laughed until Madam Pomfrey threatened them with Sleeping Draughts if they didn't quiet down.

* * *

"Which means," Dumbledore said cheerily, "we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. Draco stared impassively at the Headmaster as the green curtains became scarlet and the silver became gold; as the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place.

It was the end-of-the-year feast. Slytherin had been sure to win the House Cup – but then the Headmaster had rewarded a hundred and seventy points to Gryffindor. Dumbledore hadn't given Draco a single point. Hadn't even mentioned his name. And all the glory…all the honor…was going to the Gryffindors. Even Neville Longbottom had somehow gotten ten points!

After he finished eating, he waited until Dumbledore stood, and then followed the Headmaster as he left the Great Hall.

They walked into a quiet corridor. Dumbledore turned.

"Mr. Malfoy? Do you have another question?"

"You could have at least said my name," replied Draco.

Dumbledore looked at him kindly, his piercing blue eyes filled with understanding. Draco found it absolutely infuriating, though none of his anger showed. He stared back icily at the older wizard.

"Draco," the Headmaster said gently. "Sometimes the best reward isn't in what others think of us. And sometimes the _only_ reward must stay hidden in our hearts."

In the years to come, Draco would puzzle over these words many times. Eventually, he would learn how true they were – and he would realize why Dumbledore did not mention him at the end-of-the-year feast. However, as an eleven-year-old, he did not understand. But he pretended he did.

"Yes sir," he nodded. Dumbledore smiled.

"Have a wonderful summer, Draco. Give Lucius my regards."

From then on, Draco held a silent grudge against the Headmaster. By the time he realized his mistake and wished to apologize, it was too late.

* * *

**And that concludes Book One. I have decided to continue posting the entire series in this story. It may run a quite long but it will be easier to follow one story instead of seven. Thanks for reading!**


	9. Borgin and Burkes

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

It was nearing the end of the summer. Draco stepped into the shop, his father following behind. Lucius Malfoy crossed the shop, glanced dismissively at the items on display, and then rang a bell on the counter.

"Touch nothing, Draco."

Draco rolled his eyes. He wasn't stupid enough to put his hands on anything in Borgin and Burkes, a place famous for selling objects of Dark magic and other dangerous magical artifacts. He wouldn't be surprised if all the items on the shelves were cursed.

"I thought you were going to buy me a present," he said. He had turned twelve a few days ago and was eager to finally receive his birthday present.

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," said his father, who was drumming his fingers on the counter.

"What's the good of that if I'm not on the House team?" Draco replied bitterly.

"I thought you were planning on trying out," his father drawled. "Am I wrong?"

Draco's jaw dropped open. His father had just given him permission to try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team! Careful to not appear overexcited – "_Malfoy's don't prance about like pixies,"_ his father would say – he allowed himself a small smile at his father before turning to examine the other objects in the store.

A withered hand lying on a cushion caught his eye. "What is this?" he asked curiously, speaking more to himself than his father.

Out of nowhere, Borgin appeared, scurrying over to Draco. "Ah, the Hand of Glory!" he said. "Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir," he said to Lucius.

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin," his father responded coldly.

Draco smirked as Borgin backtracked quickly. "No offense, sir, no offense meant –"

"Though if his grades don't pick up," Lucius continued, more coldly still, "that may indeed be all he is fit for."

Draco's smirk disappeared and he gritted his teeth. He had aced every single one of his exams last year – in fact, he had received bonus points on most of them. He was second in his class, and far ahead of almost everyone else. For example, Blaise Zabini, who was ranked third, averaged a 99. But that didn't seem to be good enough for his father. Simply because Hermione Granger, who held the top scores, was a Mudblood.

"It's not my fault," retorted Draco. "My grades are excellent. I made a 110 on my Charms final exam. But Hermione made a 112. And for Transfiguration, I got a 117 but she got a 120. And –"

His father cut him off. "I would have thought you'd be ashamed that girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam."

"Except Potions," Draco couldn't help pointing out. "I got a 108 on Professor Snape's exam. Hermione only got a 107."

"Enough," Lucius snapped. "You _will_ do better this year, you hear me?"

"Yes, Father," Draco said, sullenly. He would try his best, but he honestly didn't see how he could beat Hermione.

"It's the same all over," said Borgin, in his oily voice, trying to soothe his customer. "Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere –"

"Not with me," his father said.

"No, sir, nor with me, sir," said Borgin, with a deep bow.

They started to haggle.

Draco continued looking at the items in the store, his curiosity sparked. There was a long coil of hangman's rope, and a magnificent opal necklace, various spiked instruments, a glass eye…

He turned and saw the large, black cabinet right in front of him. The doors of the cabinet were slightly open, and as he peered closer, he noticed a pair of green eyes looking right back at him.

Draco chuckled darkly.

"Lucky you, Potter. You are inside the Crushing Cabinet, a torture device that is activated by shutting the doors. You would be a dead man if you hadn't left a crack open," he murmured.

"Shut up, Draco," Harry hissed at him, though a green eye winked in gratitude.

"Yes sir," he replied, mockingly.

"I didn't realize you did so well in school last year."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "If you need help, just ask."

"Me? Get tutored by a Slytherin? In your dreams."

"You'll come crawling to me soon enough," he drawled.

"Imagining me crawling to you in your dreams? You have a sick mind, Malfoy."

Their banter quickly devolved into crude jokes.

Abruptly, Harry diverged from the chain of insults. "Why is your father so hard on you?" he asked.

Draco shrugged. "Old family pride. We're one of the last few pureblood families. And I'm his only child, y'know. His attitude is, '_If she can do it, why can't you_?'" he mimicked. It was a frighteningly accurate representation of his father.

He turned his attention back to Harry. "If I may ask, why are you inside a medieval torture device?"

"I used Floo powder for the first time. Meant to end up in Diagon Alley. Not here. Where am I?" Harry asked, miserably.

Draco suddenly realized the danger his friend was in. There were many wizards in this dark alley who would not hesitate to kill the Boy Who Lived – or worse – if they saw him.

"You need to get out of here quick," he whispered frantically, frustrated that he had wasted so much time joking with Harry. "You're in Knockturn Alley. When you get out of here, turn right and _run_. The street twists and turns a bit, but just keep heading straight. Don't let anyone - or _anything_ \- stop you."

Relief shone in Harry's green eyes. "Thanks, Draco."

"No worries," Draco responded. "You saved my life last year. I never -"

Just then, Lucius called out from the counter. "Come, Draco. Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I'll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods."

Draco spared one last glance at the cabinet, and then left with his father.

* * *

About an hour later, he saw Harry in Flourish and Blotts, the bookstore. He was relieved to see that Harry seemed unharmed. He was less pleased to see all the attention Lockhart paid to his friend. Harry was obviously discomforted – why didn't people just let him be?

"Bet you loved that, didn't you?" he remarked sarcastically to Harry, who snorted in disgust.

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" said a small red-headed girl. Draco stared at her. _Did she miss the point, or did she miss the point?_

"Is this your girlfriend?" he asked. The girl turned scarlet. Draco grinned. It was glaringly obvious that she had a crush on Harry. How cute.

"Oh hey! Draco!" Ron and Hermione fought their way through the crowd, both clutching stacks of Lockhart's books. "How was your summer?"

"Fine, thanks," he said, glad to see his friends. "And yours?"

"Wait till I tell you how my brothers and I broke Harry out of that _jail_ that he calls home," Ron said.

Just then, Mr. Weasley came over with Fred and George. "Ron! What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

But before he could take a single step, Draco felt his father's hand on his shoulder, and a sense of dread fell over him. His smile faded and he stood stiffly. He wiped his face free of emotion, and his hands clenched into fists.

"Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley," his father sneered.

"Lucius," Mr. Weasley replied, nodding coldly.

Draco's lips tightened when his father started taunting the Weasleys. He had heard his father mock the Weasley's lack of wealth in private hundreds of times, but he never imagined that Lucius would pick a fight in public…and in front of Ron…

Ron was looking from him to his father, eyes wide. His expression wavered between outrage, guilt, and shame.

Draco stared back at Ron impassively, though he wished there was something he could do to wipe the hurt off his friend's face. When his father pulled on his arm to lead him out of the store, he could still feel Ron's pained eyes following him. They burned into his back. He wouldn't be surprised if he found two smoldering holes in his cloak.

_What's the point of being his friend if I don't act like it? _he thought to himself, as his father took him to Quality Quidditch Supplies. But the thought made his heart squeeze in a strange way, and he shoved it from his mind. There was still a month until school started, and he was determined to enjoy what remained of his summer vacation.

He forced a smile when his father handed him the Nimbus Two Thousand and One. He clutched it tightly, planning to spend as much time as he could on the new broomstick.

* * *

**And thus starts the adventure of Book Two! Please review, and as always, thanks for reading. XOXO**


	10. Seeker

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

Draco could not believe it when he heard. The entire school was abuzz with rumors. Harry and Ron had even made the _Evening Prophet_.

"…flying a car right into the Whomping Willow…"

"…seen by six or seven Muggles…"

He wanted to talk to his Gryffindor friends and get the whole story out of them, but unfortunately he hadn't found a chance to when Marcus Flint stopped him in the hallway.

"So, Malfoy," the Slytherin Quidditch Captain said. "Going to try out for the House team?"

Draco nodded eagerly. "What positions are open this year?"

"We're looking for a new Seeker since Terence Higgs graduated. That's why I came to talk to you," Marcus said, eyeing Draco up and down. "You have just the build for it – light – speedy – do you have a broom?

"A Nimbus Two Thousand and One," Draco said proudly.

Marcus grinned. _Of course Malfoy would have the latest and best model_, he thought. "Meet me at the pitch at 7 o'clock?"

Draco's grey eyes were glowing. "Yes, of course!"

"See you then."

* * *

Draco walked onto the Quidditch pitch a few minutes early. No one was there yet, so he jumped on his broom and did a few loops to shake off his nerves.

"Hey, Malfoy, come down!"

Marcus Flint had arrived. Tagging along behind him was Theodore Nott, a weedy, stringy boy in Draco's year, and a short, older girl who Draco did not recognize.

"Very nice, Draco," Marcus said, his eyes gleaming. "Been practicing all summer?"

Draco nodded.

"You already know Theo, and this is Anita Mordaunt, a fourth year," Flint introduced. "Now as you all know, I am looking for a new Seeker. We will have a warm-up and two eliminations. No questions? Alright, let's get started."

The warm-up was quite simple. Marcus pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and started throwing golf balls up in every which direction for them to catch.

After about ten minutes, Marcus stopped them. "Everyone warmed up? Good, now for the first elimination round. Same exercise, except the two who catch the most balls will advance; the third will be dismissed. Any questions?"

"Can we '_accidentally_' bump into each other?" Theo asked. Draco sniggered.

"No foul play," Marcus glowered. "Ready? Go!"

Again, he started throwing golf balls. The three bolted off, eager to prove themselves.

It wasn't just about speed, Draco quickly realized. Marcus had a strong arm and in the time that you flew off to catch one ball, there were three more in the sky. He also had to watch the other two, making sure to go for balls that they weren't aiming for, or if they did go for the same ball, to ensure he didn't collide with them.

At the end of ten minutes, Marcus calculated their scores.

"Twenty-three for Draco, twenty for Anita, and…I'm sorry, Theo but you only caught fourteen. You may go."

Theo pouted. His lower lip trembled, and then he skulked off the field.

"Alright. Just the two of you left. Let's see – " Marcus held up a Snitch. "- which one of you can catch this first?"

He released it. The little golden ball seemed to glimmer – then it disappeared.

By now it was getting quite dim. Draco leaned forward and guided his broom to fly high up about the Quidditch pitch, peering down. He felt Anita following him up.

"It's getting rather hard to see, isn't it?" she commented.

Draco ignored her. Evidently Anita was the chatty type.

"Just cause you're a pretty little boy doesn't mean I'll go easy on you," she sneered.

_Why was she talking to him? _"If I were you, I would shut up and start searching for the Snitch," he growled.

Anita flushed red. "Now listen here you arrogant prick…"

But Draco wasn't listening to her. He had been sweeping his eyes over the empty field. And there it was. By the last remaining rays of the sun, he spotted a faint golden gleam. Without the distraction of a Quidditch game going on, it was actually not very difficult to spot. He dived down…reached forward….he felt Anita diving behind him, but his broom was faster…

And his fingers closed around the cool metal of the Golden Snitch.

* * *

After the tryout, he showered quickly and then ran down to his dormitory to scribble a note to his father. Then he sped up to the Owlery, feeling as if he were running on clouds.

He had done it! He was the Slytherin Seeker! He fed his eagle owl a treat, and then gave quick instructions. When he returned to the Slytherin Common Room, Pansy Parkinson looked up.

"What are you so happy about, Draco?" she asked, noticing the wide smile plastered across the blonde boy's face. Draco didn't smile often – in fact, Pansy didn't think she had ever seen him so happy before.

He grasped her hands and pulled her out of the cushy black couch she had been sitting on. "I'm the new Seeker for our Quidditch team!" he said, gleefully, spinning with her around the room.

Pansy gasped. "Congratulations! Ooooh let me go, I'm getting dizzy," she giggled. _He should smile more often_, she thought to herself. _He's quite cute when he smiles_.

The wall to the common room slid open and a few more second year Slytherins walked in.

"Good job, Draco!" said Gregory Goyle.

"Yeah, good job!" Vincent Crabbe echoed.

"You're grinning like a fool. Are you stretching your mouth so you can eat a Snitch like Potter?" Blaise Zabini smirked.

Draco was too wrapped in bliss to be insulted, instead flashing the Italian a cheeky grin and winking. He felt on top of the world.

The next morning at breakfast, his eagle owl brought him a letter.

_Congratulations, Draco. You have finally fulfilled one of my expectations. In honor of your success, I have decided to make a generous donation to the Slytherin Quidditch Team. The gift should be arriving shortly. _

_L. Malfoy_

And then Marcus Flint was coming towards him, waving a letter of his own. "Your father is giving each member of the team a Nimbus Two Thousand and One!" he shouted joyfully. He picked up the younger boy and hoisted him onto his shoulders.

The other members of the Slytherin Quidditch Team surrounded them and paraded around the table. Draco basked in the attention. The year was off to a great start. He was the Slytherin Seeker. His teammates all had the fastest broom in the world. There was absolutely no way they could lose any Quidditch games this year.

* * *

It was a bright Saturday morning. Marcus had roused the Slytherin Quidditch Team for practice. But when they got to the field, it seemed like there were already people practicing.

A figure in red robes flew down to meet them.

"Flint!" Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, yelled. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

Marcus squinted at Oliver. "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

"But I booked the field!" said Oliver, spitting with rage. "I booked it!"

Marcus sneered. "I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. We need to train with our new Seeker."

"You've got a new Seeker?" asked Wood, surprised.

Marcus pulled Draco forward.

Even though Oliver Wood had a stocky build and towered over him, Draco looked into his eyes fearlessly.

"Hullo, Draco," said a quiet voice.

The young Slytherin turned to see Harry, who had just landed nearby, dressed in red Quidditch robes.

"Hey there, Harry," he replied.

Oliver and Marcus continued to argue. Marcus showed off their new brooms. "Beautiful aren't they?"

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy_ their way in. _They_ got in on pure talent," a clear voice called out.

Draco felt like he had been punched in the gut. He spun around, angry retorts rising to his lips – then froze as he saw Hermione walking towards them with Ron.

Hermione's expression had been haughtily disdainful, but when she recognized Draco her mouth dropped open and her eyes filled with tears.

"Oops," she whispered. "I'm sorr-"

Before she could finish speaking, Marcus whirled on her. "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

The Gryffindors leapt for the Slytherins' throats, but before anyone could draw a punch, a loud bang echoed around the stadium. Draco looked over to see Ron laid out flat on the grass, his Spello-taped wand smoking beside him.

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

The other Slytherins howled in laughter, but Draco felt torn between allegiances. He felt bad for Ron. Yet how could he have defended Hermione when she had said such horrible things?

Harry and Hermione took Ron to the hospital wing. As they were walking away, Hermione looked back over her shoulder once at Draco. Her brown eyes were soft and pleading.

He returned her gaze coldly. He would not forgive her so easily for revealing what she truly thought of him: a talent-less wizard who bought his way to prestige. His hands curled into fists, determined to prove her wrong.

* * *

After Quidditch practice, Draco dropped by the hospital wing to visit Ron. The redhead didn't look pleased to see him.

"Oh, stop it, Draco. You can't pick and choose," Ron said tiredly. He bent over the bucket again as a fresh wave of slugs made their appearance. He came back up, looking pale and sweaty. "You can't just be our friend sometimes, and then ignore us otherwise."

Draco sat stiffly, the unpleasant thought having returned, tumbling around in his head again. _What's the point of being his friend if I don't act like it?_

"I'm _always_ your friend, Ron," Draco muttered, though he didn't sound very convincing, even to himself.

"What about Flourish and Blotts? You just stood there, letting your father go on and on about us being poor – is _that_ what you really think about me and my family? And on the Quidditch field just now. You didn't even defend Hermione when Marcus called her a - a _Mudblood_."

"You don't understand," Draco burst out, frustrated. "If I had said anything, then my father might have…might have…"

"Can't you just stand up to your father for once?" Ron snapped.

"_He's my father! _You weren't so brave yourself when your mother sent that Howler!"

"If I were you, I wouldn't have cared what happened to me_. I would have stood up for you_," he said, with a steely glint in his eye. He coughed, turned, and spit out another slug.

"Funny," Draco retorted, "I don't seem to recall anyone but Marcus defending me when Hermione –"

"She apologized!" yelled Ron. Then he gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his hand. He threw it into the basin.

"And that makes it alright to _say things like that_? Just a simple apology and everything is better? It doesn't work like that, Ron."

They sat looking at each other for a moment, then Ron sighed. "You better go," he said, gruffly.

Draco stood up. "Fine," he said. And walked out.

* * *

**Book Two starts off with a lot of negative experiences with Draco (well I guess the whole series does.) It sets up a lot of interesting character interaction, and I am trying to show how these experiences shape him into the man he will eventually become. **

**Thanks for all the support (yay reviews!) and thank you for reading!**


	11. Writing on the Wall

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

Between Quidditch practice, homework, classes, and his self-assigned extra reading, Draco found that he had practically no free time. Before he knew it, Halloween had arrived and he had not spoken a word to Ron, Harry, or Hermione.

He missed his Gryffindor friends, yet whenever he thought of Ron's face as he spat out slugs – or Hermione's voice on the Quidditch Pitch – his chest would tighten and he would suddenly remember another urgent task he had to complete.

And Harry was always being dragged around by Professor Lockhart, whom Draco thought was a mindless git and avoided as much as possible. Listening to Lockhart talk brainlessly about his supposed heroics and wonderful deeds was almost as painful as his two concussions last year. He also thought the new Defense of Dark Arts teacher's attempts at self-promotion were incredibly tasteless. Draco might be a self-serving Slytherin, but at least he had _class_.

It was also strange to see Hermione and Pansy mooning over Professor Lockhart. Out of all the girls in his year at Hogwarts, he thought that at least those two would be able to keep their heads around the charismatic professor. Evidently he was wrong.

He polished off his piece of pumpkin pie and then stood up, stretching like a satisfied cat. The Halloween feast was over and he followed his classmates out of the Great Hall. The sound of hundreds of feet and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people filled the hallways.

And then it stopped. Silence swept the crowd, starting from the front and flowing until even the gossiping girls in the back realized that there was something very wrong.

Draco pushed roughly through the crowd until he reached the front. And there were his three Gryffindor friends, standing in front of a dead cat hanging by its tail. Large words had been scrawled on the wall behind it, shimmering strangely in the light cast by flaming torches.

He stepped forward until he was standing by his friends, and read the wall.

"_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware._"

Suddenly aware that he had spoken aloud, he felt the eyes of the entire school upon him. His mind flashed back… back to a bedtime story about Hogwarts that his father had told him when he was little. A legend about the Heir of Slytherin…

Hermione spoke first. "D-do you know anything about this, Draco? Who – who are the enemies of the Heir?"

Draco looked at her firmly in the eye before speaking, his words echoing throughout the silent hall.

"It means Muggleborns."

* * *

And it was suddenly as if nothing had happened between them.

Draco didn't know why – it was very unlike him – but he just couldn't hold a grudge against Hermione after realizing that there may be something out to hurt her. The cat hadn't been dead after all – just Petrified – but Draco had a feeling that the worst had yet to come.

He joined Hermione daily in the Library as they both feverishly looked up as much literature about the Chamber of Secrets, Salazar Slytherin, and Petrification as possible.

The first day, she bombarded him with questions.

"Have you asked your – "

"My father doesn't know anything that we don't already know," Draco said.

"What does it mean to be – "

"The Heir of Slytherin probably refers to a descendent of Salazar Slytherin. And yes, he – or she – is probably in my House."

"Do you have any – "

"I have absolutely no clue who it might be," Draco said, disgustedly. He slammed the book in front of him shut. "Could you please ask less predictable questions, Hermione?"

There was a quick pause. Then the words tumbled from Hermione's lips quickly, as if she wouldn't dare to complete the question if they were said too slowly.

"Do you hate Muggleborns?"

"Of course not," Draco answered, startled. He looked up into Hermione's brown eyes. She wore a face of determination and her voice was steely as she asked the next question.

"Do you think you are _better_ than Muggleborns?"

Draco hesitated, then said carefully, "My father says – "

She cut him off. "I've told you this before – I don't _care _what your father says. What do _you_ think?"

He blinked slowly. "I…I'm not sure…"

"HOW CAN YOU NOT BE SURE!?"

"I just don't know, alright?" he yelled.

Madam Pince, the librarian, came striding around the corner.

"I'm going to throw you two out if you don't quiet down!" she hissed.

"Yes ma'am," they said in unison.

* * *

The second day, Hermione apologized for what she had said on the Quidditch field.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't recognize you at first – "

"It's alright. I understand. At least I know what you really think of me now," he said bitterly.

"Draco!"

"Yeah, I have no talent and get everything handed to me because of my family's wealth. Mmhm. Hit the nail right on the head, Granger," he continued.

Hermione's face crumpled.

"I didn't mean that," she said in a small voice. "I think you _are _talented…Will you forgive me? Please, Draco?"

Draco gritted his teeth, trying to summon a shred of anger. He couldn't manage it, and sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"I've already forgiven you, Hermione. Can we stop talking about this now?"

* * *

The third day, Draco decided on something that would change his life forever.

They had been quiet for most of the day, focusing on their studies. After reading a particularly dense paragraph, Draco stretched and leaned back in his chair, tilting it so it balanced on two legs. He tapped his quill on the table, looking across at Hermione, watching her thoughtfully.

The bushy-haired brunette was buried nose-deep in _Hogwarts, A History_. He could only see the top of her head, but he knew that her brown eyes were skimming rapidly across the page, absorbing every word. And even though the semester was barely halfway over, he already knew that she would be at the top of their class yet again. This was the girl who pushed him to do his best. No… _better_ than his best. Yet she had Muggle parents.

His thoughts had been sloshing around in confusion in his head for the last couple of days, but they suddenly crystallized. In that moment, he knew which side he was on.

"Hermione."

"Hm?"

"I don't think I'm better than Muggleborns."

"Oh…wait. What!?" she looked up at him, her eyes wide and startled. "Are you feeling alright, Draco?"

"I feel fine. I meant what I said."

"B-but you're a _pureblood_ and a _Slytherin_ and – and you're a _Malfoy_ -"

"And I also promised to be your friend," Draco snapped. "Did you think I would forget that?"

"I thought you were joking," Hermione said, a wide grin spreading across her face, looking as though Christmas had arrived early.

"I wasn't."

"What about your father? Remember what he said in the bookstore? He said Muggleborns are a disgrace to wizarding society..."

Draco took a deep breath.

"I don't always agree with my father," he said. With those words, a giant weight lifted off his chest, though he only noticed now that it was gone. He sucked in another deep breath, his lungs feeling fuller than he had ever felt in his life. He grinned recklessly.

"Oh, Draco – " Hermione knew how much his father meant to the young Slytherin. She reached across the table and gently placed her hand on his. They sat there, staring at each other, until Hermione suddenly blushed, mumbled something incoherent, and buried herself once again in her book.

* * *

Draco was glad that Ron was willing to speak to him again as well.

"You really should get a new one," Draco remarked. gesturing towards Ron's Spello-taped wand.

"Oh, yeah, and get another Howler back," said Ron, annoyed. He stuffed his wand, which was blowing purple bubbles, into his bag.

Draco was suddenly reminded of Ron's adventures with the flying car.

"You never told me what happened this summer with Harry! Or how you got to Hogwarts - why did you come by flying car?"

Ron grinned, pulling Draco into an alcove. They sat side-by-side on a ledge, and Ron started telling Draco everything, starting with how the Weasleys had been getting worried when Harry returned none of their letters. Draco was a very good audience; he laughed in all the right places and patted Ron on the back in congratulations when he told how he and his brothers had pulled Harry right from the grasp of his evil uncle.

But when Ron related what had happened to Harry's letters, Draco jumped to his feet.

"Dobby has been taking Harry's letters all summer?" he cried, outraged. "That little piece of SCUM! When I get home, he'll pay."

Ron stared at his friend. "Dobby is your family's house-elf?"

Draco sat back down, nodding his head. Then he saw the look on Ron's face.

"What's wrong?"

"Dobby was trying to stop him from returning to Hogwarts," Ron explained.

Draco was taken aback. "Why?"

"He said it was dangerous." Then the redheaded stared at Draco. "Do you think he knew about the Chamber of Secrets?"

"How could he?" Draco asked. "Besides, Potter is half-blood, right?"

Ron nodded thoughtfully. Then he narrowed his eyes at his friend.

"You're not the Heir of Slytherin, are you?"

Draco looked amused. "No. Would you like me to recite my family tree?" he offered.

Ron shook his head quickly. He continued on in his story, with Draco listening avidly. He was just as puzzled as Ron about the barrier to Platform 9¾, and laughed loudly when Ron mentioned hitting the one tree that would hit back.

Afterwards, they sat in silence for a few seconds.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you," Ron said quietly.

"Hm?"

"What your dad said at Flourish and Blotts...is that what you think of my family too?"

"I am not my father," Draco said softly, staring darkly into shadows cast by the flickering torchlight of the hall.

Ron nodded, relief spreading over his face. "That's what I figured." Then his expression changed again, becoming apologetic. "Draco, I'm sorry about what I said to you in the hospital wing...will you forgive me?"

In response, Draco hopped off the ledge, and then turned and offered his hand to his friend. Ron grinned and clasped his hand firmly. Draco pulled Ron up. Side-by-side, they walked off down the hall.

* * *

When Harry told him of the rumors being spread around school – that Harry was the Heir – and how Justin Finch-Fetchley had been running away from him – Draco doubled over and burst out laughing.

"It's not funny! The Sorting Hat almost placed me in Slytherin, you know!"

"The key word is _almost_," Draco drawled. "Those Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs have no idea what they are talking about. Trust me, _no one_ in Slytherin thinks you are the Heir."

They were walking towards the Great Hall for lunch, when a mousy-haired first year came rushing towards them.

"Hiya, Harry!"

"Hullo, Colin," said Harry automatically. Draco narrowed his eyes. The way Harry looked at the small boy was weary and _very_ annoyed. _If he doesn't like someone, why doesn't he just say so?_

He leaned towards Harry. "Would you like me to get rid of the boy for you?" he hissed in Harry's ear.

"No, it's alright –" Harry replied out of the corner of his mouth.

The boy prattled on for a few more seconds. "Could I have another autographed photo? My parents have been handing them out to the neighbors...Ooooh, thanks! And guess what, Harry! I Transfigured my match into a needle yesterday - isn't magic so cool? And guess what else –"

Draco quickly decided he had enough.

"Y'know, Harry, I think I'm gonna do it anyway."

Before his friend could react, Draco had walked forward, grabbed the collar of the younger boy's shirt, and pushed him roughly against the wall. He wasn't much bigger than Colin – but the cold look in his eyes was enough to freeze the young Gryffindor in place.

"Look now," he hissed. "You leave Potter alone from now on, you hear me? If I _see_ or _hear_ you talking to him, I'll make sure you will regret it."

Colin squeaked. "Y-yes sir." He squirmed as if to get away.

Draco chuckled evilly. "Not so fast." He brought out his wand.

The boy's eyes widened. Draco grinned.

"_Locomotor Mortis_!" he murmured. Then he let the boy go and stepped away.

At first Colin's face was the picture of relief. Then he tried to take a step.

Draco howled in laughter as the little boy face-planted onto the floor, unable to walk due to the Leg-Locker Curse. Harry ran to help him up, and then quickly performed the countercurse. He turned to his friend, frowning.

"You really didn't need to do that, Draco," he said.

"I just scared him a little. No harm, no foul," Draco replied. He looked over at Colin, who was clutching at Harry's hand and thanking him. When the boy saw the Slytherin eyeing him, he glared and stuck his tongue out.

Draco snorted in disgust. It seems that his actions had backfired – Colin was looking up at Harry more adoringly than ever.

Somehow, Harry managed to pry Colin off his hand and shoo him away. They continued towards the Great Hall.

"I think he just might bend down and lick your shoes next," Draco commented. "See what I mean? You're too soft to be the Heir of Slytherin."

For some reason, Harry still looked glum. As they split apart to their respective House tables, Draco scanned his fellow Slytherins. He knew most of them by face, if not by name. _Who could it possibly be...?_

* * *

**Sometimes it's hard keeping in mind that they're only twelve years old at this point. Please review, I've gotten some great suggestions from you guys. Thanks for reading!**


	12. The Mad Bludger

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three… two… one…"

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky.

It was Draco's first Quidditch game. Against the Gryffindors, no less. It was intimidating to be facing Harry Potter, the youngest Seeker in a century, but Draco was determined to do his best. After all, he did have something to prove – to Hermione, to his father, and most importantly, himself.

He zoomed around the field on his Nimbus Two Thousand and One, eyes sweeping over the field. It had started to rain. _Good_, he thought, _Harry wears glasses and I don't. Must be hard for him to see. I wonder how he's getting on…_

He glanced around quickly for the Gryffindor Seeker, then gasped as he noticed a Bludger zooming toward him. Quickly, he ducked…and the Bludger suddenly stopped moving, then reversed, heading right back where it came from.

_What?_

That was _not_ how Bludgers behaved. They usually zoomed to the nearest target, attacking people indiscriminately. It was as if the Bludger had gone mad.

Draco tracked the mad Bludger – it was heading straight to Harry. The Gryffindor ducked, and one of his team's Beaters – one of Ron's brothers – hit it with a resounding _WHACK!_ back towards Draco.

Once again Draco ducked – and once again it wasn't necessary. The Bludger stopped, and then reversed. Heading back towards Harry, as if pulled by an invisible magnet.

He watched as the Gryffindors desperately tried to protect their Seeker from the mad Bludger, which kept honing in on Harry no matter what they did. Draco groaned inwardly. _Damn bloody POTTER_, he thought. _Why did it always seem like someone was out to kill him during Quidditch games?_

With all the attention the Gryffindor Beaters were paying to Harry, the Slytherins had pulled ahead sixty to zero. The Gryffindors called for a time out.

He strained to hear what the Gryffindors were saying over the sound of rain.

"– it'll take your head off – "

"– let's ask for an inquiry – "

Then Harry's clear, boyish voice cut through the air. "If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match! And we're not losing to Slytherin just because of a crazy Bludger!"

Draco laughed under his breath. _Typical Gryffindor. _

The game resumed.

_Focus_, Draco thought. _Find the Snitch_.

He looped the field…once…twice…three times, looking carefully for a golden gleam. Every so often he would look up and see Harry flying in crazy patterns, cleverly avoiding the Snitch. Evidently the Gryffindor had told his Beaters to leave him alone and focus on the rest of the game.

Then he heard something whistle through the air.

He looked up just in time to see Harry speeding towards him, a demonic look in his green eyes.

"What the – " Draco gasped, pulling his broom up and careening out of Harry's way.

Too late, he saw it. The Snitch. It had been hovering in his blind spot just inches away all along.

Then it disappeared from view as Harry's hand closed around it.

With a sickening crack, the mad Bludger crashed into Harry's arm. Surprisingly, the boy didn't even let go of the Snitch.

Barely hanging on to his broom, Harry headed straight for the ground. With a splattering thud, he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. Draco felt slightly queasy when he noticed Harry's arm hanging at a very strange angle.

Draco sped down and landed. He bent over his friend.

"Harry?"

The boy was passed out.

Someone came running. He turned and saw Professor Lockhart.

"Oh, no, not you," Draco moaned, eyes widening.

"What are you talking about? It's a simple charm I've used countless times – "

And before Draco could react, the man pointed his wand at Harry's arm.

Draco looked, and immediately wished he hadn't. His stomach churned uncomfortably. Harry's arm looked like a thick, flesh-colored rubber glove. It flopped uselessly at his side, like a deflated balloon. Lockhart hadn't mended Harry's bones. He had removed them.

The Snitch rolled slowly out of his hand onto the mud.

"Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken."

Harry moaned, and his green eyes blinked groggily open. "Whaaa - ?" He looked blearily at Lockhart, then glanced down at his arm, and his expression filled with horror.

Lockhart blabbered on. "Er, Mr. Malfoy, would you escort him up to the hospital wing? – and Madam Pomfrey will be able to – er – tidy him up a bit."

Draco could barely see through the red haze of his rage.

* * *

Luckily Madam Pomfrey and a night of _Skele-Gro_ fixed Harry right up.

Draco was less lucky. Marcus Flint had spent an hour yelling at him for not seeing the Snitch "right on top of his head." His father had sent a scathing letter that Draco had tossed in the fireplace after only reading it halfway.

The next day, Draco came upon the three Gryffindors whispering in the Library.

" – I can't believe he fixed that Bludger – " Ron muttered.

Harry nodded. " – I know! And would you believe it, he said he wasn't out to kill me. He just wanted to hurt me enough to make me go home – "

"Who?" he asked.

His three friends turned to them. Their guilt was written all over their faces.

"Come on, guys, you can trust me," he said, irritated. He pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Promise you won't try to – to hurt the person we're talking about," Hermione said.

Draco rolled his eyes. As if he was big enough to beat anyone up. He knew he was a scrawny twelve-year-old. Who could he possibly harm?

"Alright, I promise."

"It was Dobby. The house-elf," said Harry.

Draco bolted to his feet. "AGAIN? That little bugger is going to wish he had never existed when I'm done with him -"

Hermione jumped up as well. "You promised not to hurt him! And it's not right to treat him like – like some slave – "

Draco looked at her as if she were crazy. "He's a _house-elf. _Serving is what his kind _does_. And I can't believe – he could have _killed_ you, Harry!" He began to apologize, but Hermione cut him off.

"Dobby was just doing what he thought was right," she said. "And you don't need to apologize on his behalf."

"But I'm his Master – "

"You didn't order him to tamper with the Bludger, did you?"

"No, but – "

"Well that's settled then." Hermione turned away and crossed her arms, clearly ending the discussion.

Draco frowned, and sat back down.

Harry continued to tell them what he had learned from Dobby.

"He also said that the Chamber of Secrets had been open before, and then he started hitting himself."

Draco's lip curled. "Good," he muttered. Hermione shot him a frigid look, but stayed silent.

"Also…there's been another student attacked."

"Who?"

"Colin Creevey."

Draco snorted, trying to hold back his laughter.

"What, you think this is funny, Draco?" Hermione turned on him again.

"No. But you have to admit, the little gnat was getting annoying. 'Harry, can I have your picture? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Harry?'" he mimicked.

"You have a rotten sense of humor," Hermione spat.

Draco smiled at her evilly.

"Stop it, you're creeping me out," she complained, punching his arm.

He pretended to fall out of his chair.

"Stop it, guys," said Harry. "We need to figure out who's behind this."

"Draco thinks it's a Slytherin," Hermione said.

"_Heir of Slytherin_. Who would've guessed?" Draco said. Then he sighed. "And before you ask, no, I have no idea who it is. And yes, I've tried to find out."

"So you talked with all the Slytherins?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, no," Draco admitted.

"If only we could get in to the Slytherin Common Room," Ron moaned. "With four of us asking around I'm sure we could find out who it is!"

"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect –"

"If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won't you?" said Ron, sarcastically.

"All right," said Hermione coldly. "All we'd need would be some Polyjuice Potion."

"What's that?" said Ron and Harry together.

"You're a bloody _brilliant_ witch," Draco murmured admiringly.

Hermione smirked at Draco. Then she turned to her fellow Gryffindors to explain. Polyjuice Potion could help transform the three Gryffindors into three Slytherins. Then Draco could sneak them all in. However, to get the recipe, they needed to borrow a book called _Moste Potente Potions_ from the Restricted Section from the Library. Problem was, they needed a signed note of permission from a teacher.

"I think," said Hermione, "that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the _theory_, we might stand a chance…"

"Oh, come on, no teacher's going to fall for that," said Ron. "They'd have to be really thick…"

The four students looked at each other, sudden realization dawning on all of them at once.

"_Lockhart_!"

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


	13. Polyjuice Potion

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

Lockhart didn't even look at the permission slip. "He'll sign anything if it stands still long enough," Ron said, rolling his eyes.

And soon the four were huddled in an abandoned bathroom, reading _Moste Potente Potions_.

"This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," said Hermione as they scanned the recipe. "Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass," she murmured, running her finger down the list of ingredients. "Well, these are easy enough. They're in the student store-cupboard, we can help ourselves…. Oooh, look, powdered horn of a bicorn – don't know where we're going to get that – shredded skin of a boomslang – that'll be tricky, too – and of course a bit of whoever we want to change into."

"Excuse me?" said Ron sharply. "What d'you mean, a bit of whoever we're changing into? I'm drinking _nothing _with filthy Slytherin toenails – "

"I think my toenails would taste amazing," Draco said stiffly. Then he grinned cheekily.

Hermione gave him a withering look. Ron and Harry pretended to gag.

They turned back to the recipe. Harry frowned. "D'you realize how much we're going to have to steal, Hermione? Shredded skin of a boomslang, that's definitely not in the students' cupboard. What're we going to do, break into Snape's private stores?"

"At least we've got the teacher's pet to help us," Ron said.

Hermione sat up indignantly. "Snape hates me almost as much as he hates –"

Draco cut her off. "I think Ron meant me," he said dryly.

Hermione's mouth snapped shut. She blushed and looked back down at the recipe.

Draco rolled his eyes. Hermione was every other teacher's pet; of course she had thought she was Snape's too. "So what's the plan?" he asked.

Harry dug in his bag and pulled out his class schedule. "Looks like we got double Potions with you Slytherins this Thursday afternoon," he said.

"I think I'd better do the stealing," Hermione said. "Ron and Harry will be expelled if they get into any more trouble. And I've got a clean record -"

"Hey, you've got the 'teacher's pet' here, why not use him?" Draco said snidely.

"Fine, _you_ can do the stealing if you're so eager. Just don't screw up," Hermione spat.

They stared at each other a moment, then burst into laughter.

Ron and Harry stared at them as if they were crazy.

"What's going on?" Ron muttered to Harry.

Harry shook his head. "No clue."

"The two – best – goody-two-shoes – students – in our year –" Draco gasped through his laughter.

"Fighting – over – who will steal –" Hermione snorted.

Harry chuckled. "Alright, we'll just leave it up to you two."

* * *

In the second week of December, the teachers came around as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco all signed up to stay.

That Thursday afternoon, the Gryffindors and Slytherins trudged into the dungeon that served as the Potions classroom. They were doing Swelling Solutions. Draco peered into his cauldron as it brewed. He scraped in the last few remaining specks of crushed dried nettles and puffer-fish eyes from his mortar, then turned the heat to medium. Looking up, he caught Hermione's eye.

He gave her a nod. Immediately, her hand shot into the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Snape said as he swept over to the Gryffindor side of the classroom.

Draco didn't hear Hermione's question, since he had ducked out of his chair and was sneaking behind the back row towards Snape's office.

Too late, he saw Zabini stick his foot out. "ARGHHHHH!" he screamed, tripping and pushing Vince, who fell headfirst into his cauldron.

Vince tried to stand. He pulled the cauldron off his head, which had already swelled to twice its normal size, and shook his head like a wet dog. People shrieked as splashes of Swelling Solution hit them.

A splash landed on Draco's left hand, and he felt it beginning to swell, but he ignored it and slipped quietly through the confusion into Snape's office.

"Silence! SILENCE!" he heard Snape roar. "Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draught – when I find out who did this – "

Draco pulled open the dark cabinet behind Snape's desk. Merlin, there were so many items… he quickly skimmed through the labels, grabbed an entire bag of powdered horn of bicorn, and stuffed as many pieces of boomslang skin as he could into his pockets. Then he shuffled out and joined the line of students for the Deflating Draught.

He looked for Harry and winked.

When everyone had taken a swig of antidote and various swellings had subsided, Snape swept over to the Slytherin side of the classroom. Draco felt his heart stop as Snape loomed before him. He prayed that the front of his robes didn't bulge much.

"Did you see what happened, Malfoy?" the Potions Master said in a deadly voice. There was a sudden hush.

"N-no, sir," he stammered. Then his stomach dropped as Vince turned.

"Why did you push me, Draco?" he snarled.

Draco immediately pointed at Blaise. "He tripped me!"

"Liar! It's not my fault you can't stay on your own clumsy feet!" Blaise protested.

"I saw it happen! Blaise tripped him!" Pansy yelled. Draco sent her a grateful look and she smiled back at him.

Blaise growled. "Why you little – "

"ENOUGH!" Snape roared. "Malfoy and Zabini, detention! Twenty points from Slytherin!"

Draco saw the mouths of his classmates drop open. Snape assigning _Slytherins _detention? _And_ deducting points from his own House? Absolutely unheard of!

Just then, the bell rang. Draco never thought that he would be glad to leave Potions, his favorite class, but this time he gathered his equipment quickly, eager to rush out with the rest.

"Just a minute, Malfoy," Snape called out.

Draco arranged his face in what he hoped was a nonchalant expression.

"You have been hanging around those trouble-making Gryffindors quite a lot, Draco," the Potions Master said.

The young Slytherin didn't quite know what to say. He looked down at his shoes, and mumbled, "Yes sir."

"I hope they aren't getting you into their shenanigans," Snape said, calmly.

Draco could feel the bag of powdered horn of bicorn slipping. A bead of sweat began forming on his forehead.

"No sir," he muttered.

"Consider this a friendly warning. Run along now," the professor waved him off.

He ran.

"That was wicked, Draco!" whispered Ron, as they hurried back to the bathroom where they had started the Polyjuice Potion.

"This better be worth getting detention," Draco muttered, clutching at the front of his robes where the bag of powdered horn of bicorn threatened to slip out of his grasp.

They crowded into the bathroom stall where the potion was simmering. Hermione threw the new ingredients into the cauldron and began to stir.

"It'll be ready in two weeks," she said happily.

* * *

He was walking down to the Slytherin Dungeon when he heard someone sobbing. The sound seemed to be coming from behind a large tapestry of a group of Snidget-hunters.

Draco loved finding out other people's secrets, preferably without their knowledge. It helped that he was also quite observant. But that wasn't why he stopped and pulled the tapestry aside.

He had never cried in his life. Even his mother had thought there was something wrong with him when he was younger; he would scream and yell as much as any other baby, but tears never seemed to fall. And perhaps that's why other people crying bothered him so much.

He let the tapestry fall behind him, and looked cautiously at the little redheaded witch crying her eyes out before him. _Where had he seen her before? Ah, yes, at Flourish and Blotts… Ron's little sister? She had a crush on Harry_, he recalled.

After a few moments of silence, she noticed him. She gave a little squeak, but didn't run off.

He watched her carefully. She looked tense and nervous. Her hands were twisting at the sleeve of her robe. He held out his hand.

"Draco Malfoy," he introduced himself.

This didn't seem to comfort her at all; if anything, she turned paler and took a step back. But when he didn't move, and his hand remained outstretched, she seemed to calm down. She stepped forward to grasp his hand.

"Ginny Weasley," she said. She gave him a shaky smile.

"Um….how are you?" he asked awkwardly.

She shuddered. "I…I…." She took a deep breath. "I've been h-having bad d-dreams…" she stuttered.

Draco sat down on the stone floor cross-legged and patted the spot next to him. Ginny sank to the ground as well. She was shaking nervously. _Am I that intimidating?_ Draco wondered.

"I had bad dreams last year too," he said comfortingly, leaving out that his bad dreams had come true. She gave him a grateful look.

He wondered if she would tell him more. At least she had stopped crying, and was now sitting quietly.

After a few minutes, Draco asked slyly, "So, Ginny, find any boys you like yet?"

She gasped and blushed as red as Ron when he had received his mother's Howler. "NO!"

"It's alright, I won't tell anyone. Especially not Potter," he teased.

She reached into her bag, pulled out a book, and started hitting him with it.

He laughed playfully and wrestled the book out of her grasp. Looking down, he narrowed his eyes. The book was not a textbook. It looked like a diary, with _1943_ on the cover. It was fifty years old.

It was strangely familiar. He tried to remember where he had seen it before. Without thinking, he flipped it open. On the first page, he could make out the name "T. M. Riddle" in smudged ink.

Ginny gasped and tore the book out of his hands. "T-that's my diary," she said.

He arched his eyebrow. "T. M. Riddle?" he said.

"It's…it's…." she gave him terrified look. Oh boy, she was back to being a little bundle of nerves. She stood up, stuffing the diary back into her bag.

"I…I better go," she squeaked, before ducking out from behind the tapestry. He heard her footsteps running off.

Where had he seen that diary before? He couldn't quite remember. He would be sure to ask Ron. Maybe it was a Weasley family heirloom.

* * *

**This is one of my favorite chapters so far. Hope you enjoyed it!**


	14. The Dueling Club

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

Ron recognized the name.

"T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago. Filch made me polish his shield for over an hour during detention," he said glumly.

But he knew nothing about the diary, and agreed with Draco that it was very mysterious.

They were walking across the entrance hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around the notice board.

"They're starting a Dueling Club!" someone said.

Draco stepped up to read the piece of parchment that had been pinned up. The first meeting was that night. Luckily it didn't interfere with his detention.

"Might come in handy someday," he said. A thrill of excitement ran through him.

"What, you reckon the monster can duel?" said Ron, but he, too, read the sign with interest.

"Not like you or I need to worry, Weasley," Draco replied lightly.

Ron's brow furrowed and he shot a quick glance at Hermione. Draco followed his glance, and he, too, frowned.

And so, at eight o'clock that evening, he met his friends in the Great Hall.

"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" Hermione asked, craning her neck at the golden stage at the front of the hall.

"As long as it's not – " Harry began, but he ended on a groan: Professor Lockhart was walking onto the stage.

Draco felt his own stomach sink, but he smiled when Snape appeared.

Lockhart and Snape did a demonstration. It was over very quickly; Draco cheered loudly when Snape blasted Lockhart off his feet. He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down to sprawl on the floor.

"Do you think he's all right?" Hermione squealed, standing on her tip toes.

"Who cares?" the three boys said together.

They split into pairs – Harry with Ron, and Draco with Hermione.

"When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents – _only_ to disarm them – one… two… three – "

"_Expelli – _" cried Hermione, but Draco was faster. Hermione's wand went flying. Draco smirked at her as she scrambled to pick it up off the floor.

Hermione turned to him with a fierce look on her face.

"_Rictusempra_!" she yelled. Draco didn't have time to react before a jet of silver light hit him in the stomach. He fell over, wheezing. Hermione had hit him with a Tickling Charm, and he could barely move for laughing. _Well, if she wants to play dirty…_

Hermione was the one smiling now, but he lashed out with his wand. "_Tarantallegra,_" he gasped. And then Hermione's legs were jerking around uncontrollably in an amusing dance. Draco would have doubled over laughing if he wasn't already rolling helplessly on the floor.

"I said disarm only!" shouted Lockhart. "Stop! Stop!" No one listened, then Snape took charge.

"_Finite Incantatem_!" he shouted.

Draco could finally breathe properly, and Hermione's feet stopped dancing. He crawled to his feet and looked around carefully.

A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Various students were lying on the ground. Few had actually listened to the instructions to disarm only. Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Harry, apologizing for whatever his broken wand had done.

"I think I'd better teach you how to _block_ unfriendly spells," said Lockhart, who looked flustered, his robes in disarray. He tried to pull Neville Longbottom and Justin Finch-Fetchley up to the stage, but Snape stepped in.

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," he said. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest of spells. How about Malfoy and Potter?"

And so Draco found himself up on the stage, facing Harry.

Snape leaned down. "Try _Serpensortia_," he whispered. Draco turned to ask why, but the Potions Master had already moved away.

He glanced back at Lockhart and Potter. Lockhart was trying to show Potter how to do a protective charm, but dropped his wand. Draco sniggered. Harry looked worried.

"Scared?" Draco muttered.

Harry's eyes glinted, and he grinned. "You wish."

Lockhart stepped back. "Three – two – one – go!" he shouted.

Once again, Draco was faster. "_Expelliarmus_!" he yelled. Harry's wand went flying.

But he didn't stop there. Remembering what Snape had said, he quickly raised his wand again.

"_Serpensortia_!"

A long black snake shot out of the end of his wand. Draco's eyes widened and he glanced in panic at Snape.

"Don't move, Potter," Snape said. Draco looked up to see Snape smiling coldly. _What was he doing…?_

"ALLOW ME!" shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake. Everyone gasped. The snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet in the air – and landed right in front of Justin Finch-Fletchley.

It hissed furiously at the wide-eyed Hufflepuff and raised itself, fangs exposed, poised to strike…

To his right, Draco heard a strange hissing and gargling sound. He turned his head and saw Harry, with a strange look on his face, _speaking to the snake_.

The snake twisted its long body and turned to Harry.

Snape stepped forward. With a wave of his wand, the snake vanished in a puff of smoke. The professor glanced at Harry with a shrewd and calculating look. Draco's lips tightened. _Had Snape known that Harry was a Parselmouth?_

He turned and grabbed Harry's arm, pulling him backward and out of the hall. As they walked by, people on either side drew away, their faces frightened and confused.

They were joined by Ron and Hermione. They ducked into an empty classroom.

Ron pushed Harry into a chair and said, furiously, "You're a Parselmouth. Why didn't you tell us?"

Harry looked up, dazed, at his three friends looming over him. "I'm a _what_?"

"_A Parselmouth_!" Draco snapped. "You can talk to snakes!"

"I know," said Harry. Draco bristled. _He knew? _"I mean, that's only the second time I've ever done it. I met a boa constrictor at the zoo once – it told me it had never seen Brazil – "

"A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?" Ron repeated faintly.

"Yeah." Harry frowned. "Why'd you cast that at me?" he asked Draco.

"Snape," Draco answered. He remembered the look on the professor's face, and frowned.

Harry threw his hands in the air. "Of course," he said, bitterly.

Ron and Hermione were looking at Harry as though someone had died. Draco had turned away, his arms were crossed, and he had an unfocused look in his eyes as though his thoughts were far away. There was a connection somewhere. He could almost, but not quite, grasp it. _Parselmouth…Slytherin…the Chamber of Secrets…_Still, he listened carefully to the conversation taking place next to him.

"What are you looking at me that way for?" Harry said irritably. "I bet loads of people here can speak to snakes."

"Oh, no they can't," said Ron. "It's not a very common gift."

"Being able to talk to snakes is what Salazar Slytherin was famous for," Hermione said in a hushed voice. "That's why the symbol of Slytherin is a serpent. Now the whole school is going to think you are the Heir…"

"But I'm not," said Harry. His green eyes were now panicked. "You believe me, right?"

Ron and Hermione looked away.

"For all we know," Hermione said softly, "you could be…"

Harry desperately turned to Draco.

"Draco, you believe me, right?"

The question interrupted Draco's train of thought. Draco stared into Harry's green eyes for a few long seconds. Then he nodded.

"You're not sneaky enough. And I don't quite remember the family trees, but I don't think the Potters are descended from Slytherin. Wish we had a chart of all the wizarding families," he muttered.

"There might be one in the Library," Hermione said, brightening at the thought of her favorite place at Hogwarts.

They managed to find a copy of _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Geneology_, but the only family they found that traced their ancestry to Salazar Slytherin was the House of Gaunt.

"I don't know anyone named Gaunt," Draco moaned.

"Me neither," Ron sighed.

"This is like the search for Nicolas Flamel all over again. Maybe we should go unwrap some more Chocolate Frogs," Harry suggested.

Draco obligingly reached into his bag and pulled out another box of sweets that his mother had sent him. They unwrapped Chocolate Frogs and read the Famous Wizard cards, joking around, until the librarian kicked them out.

* * *

At breakfast the next day, Snape approached Draco and Blaise. "You will do your detention tonight," he said. "Meet Filch in the trophy room at seven o'clock." The two boys nodded.

At exactly seven o'clock, Draco dragged himself into the trophy room. Blaise was already there.

"It's your fault that we're going to be doing servant's work," Draco said icily.

"I'm not sure why you were skulking about. Or why you went into Snape's office. Didn't think anyone would notice, did you?" Blaise retorted. Draco went pale. The Italian chuckled.

"Don't worry, mate, I won't tell. I can keep a fellow Slytherin's secrets. You owe me, though."

Draco snorted. He didn't like Blaise holding anything over him, but he expected no less. Blackmail was common among Slytherins. In an odd way, it drew them closer together. After all, everyone used other people, whether they admitted it or not. Slytherins were simply more open about this fact; manipulation was actively encouraged as a way to forge useful bonds among its members.

He was indebted to Pansy as well, he mused. He had to find a way to pay her back. Perhaps a Christmas gift…

Filch came to fetch them. The two boys followed him as he led them out of the room, down the corridor, stamped up a set of stairs, turned down another corridor, up another flight of stairs…

The moment they turned into the dark corridor, Draco sensed something was wrong. It was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane. Filch growled and hurried over to close it, mumbling curses under his breath. Draco looked past the caretaker – down the long hallway – into the eyes of Harry Potter.

His friend had a crazy look in his eyes. His black hair was sticking up at crazed angles, even messier than usual. Without speaking, Harry pointed at something on the floor.

Draco ran towards his friend, and then bent down to look.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold. _Petrified_. And that wasn't all. Next to him was another figure, the strangest sight that Draco had ever seen.

It was the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal. His head was half off and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin's.

"By Merlin –" Blaise was at Draco's elbow, closely examining the ghost. He stuck his hand out, into the ghost, and it went right through. "This is really cool!"

"Whatever did this might still be around," Draco said harshly. Blaise jumped and instantly pulled his hand back, looking around cautiously.

"It's the Heir though, isn't it, Draco? If so, then we're safe." Despite this statement, Blaise's voice trembled slightly.

Draco looked at Harry. His friend was breathing fast and shallow. The Gryffindor pointed again at the floor, and Draco saw a line of spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the bodies. Again, his brain started whirring. _Parselmouth…monster of the Chamber of Secrets…spiders…_ But the idea remained just out of Draco's grasp.

Filch came stomping toward them. "What are you boys lookin' at – AHHHHHHH! ANOTHER ATTACK!"

Crash – crash – crash – door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. There was such a scene of confusion that Justin was in danger of being stepped on and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting down the hall, screaming his head off. "ATTACKKK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

Professor McGonagall came running. With her wand, she set off a loud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into their classes.

Peeves broke into song:

"_Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh, what have you done,  
You're killing off students, you think it's good fun –"_

"That's enough, Peeves!" barked Professor McGonagall.

Filch and Blaise were assigned to carry Justin to the hospital wing. Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan and told Draco to fan Nearly Headless Nick to the hospital wing as well. It was the oddest thing Draco had ever been told to do.

As he slowly fanned the ghost away, he glanced back at Harry. His friend looked very pale and worried.

_What had he been doing in the hallway anyways_? Draco's gut feeling was that Harry was not the Heir of Slytherin, but his friend _really_ had a knack for turning up in the wrong places at the wrong time. Draco sighed. As McGonagall led Harry away, he hoped that his friend would be alright.


	15. The Slytherin Common Room

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

The Christmas feast was held right before students went home for the holidays. Draco's jaw dropped when he entered the Great Hall; it was absolutely magnificent. Thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossed the high ceiling. Enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry – Draco and his two childhood friends, Vince and Greg, had a mini-competition as to who could gather the biggest pile of snow before it vanished.

When the food appeared, they quickly stopped and dug in. Draco's favorite was the Christmas pudding – he ate at least three helpings before he finally sat back, happily patting his stomach.

When they walked out of the Great Hall, Draco suddenly turned to his two hulking friends.

"So, we've been friends for a while, yeah?" he asked.

They nodded.

Draco pulled out two small boxes from his bag. "Merry Christmas!" he said, cheerily.

Vince and Greg's eyes widened. Draco Malfoy, giving away presents? Merry Christmas indeed! They greedily tore open the packages. Two plump chocolate cakes sat, deliciously oozing with dark chocolate sauce and powdered sugar on top.

"You made these?" Vince asked. Draco resisted from rolling his eyes.

"Of course not," he said, though he didn't elaborate.

Vince shrugged, and along with Greg, placed the cakes whole into their large mouths. For a moment, both of them chewed greedily – then they keeled over backwards.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione popped out from the closet where they had been hiding. Together, they dragged the two slumbering boys into the closet, then plucked some hair from their heads.

Draco had already collected some hair from Millicent Bulstrode, who had gone home for Christmas, for Hermione.

They ran to the bathroom, where Hermione had already poured the Polyjuice Potion into three beakers. Each Gryffindor went into a separate bathroom stall, placed some hair in their beaker – then swallowed.

Draco waited outside. When the two boys stepped out of their stalls, Draco couldn't help but stare.

"Who is who?" he asked.

"I'm Ron," said the one who looked like Vincent Crabbe. "This is unbelievable." He looked wonderingly at himself in the bathroom mirror.

"Harry," said the one who looked like Gregory Goyle. Draco noticed the round glasses perched on Greg's nose.

"Take off your glasses, Greg – I mean, Harry," Draco said. He squinted up, examining their faces. Something looked different. "Try to look less…alert."

For some reason Hermione refused to come out of her stall. Draco wanted to kick down her door – really, he saw Millicent Bulstrode's ugly face every day – but Hermione reminded them that they were wasting time, so the three boys set off towards the Slytherin Dungeon.

As they walked, Draco tried to fill them in on what to expect. Where to sit, how to respond…

"Why are you friends with Crabbe and Goyle anyway," Ron asked.

"Vince and Greg? I dunno," Draco shrugged. "We grew up together. We were friends before we could talk."

"You talk to them? Blimey, what about?" Harry piped, disbelievingly.

Draco looked at him innocently. "Girls, Quidditch, school. You know, the usual."

"Must be bloody interesting conversation," Ron muttered, exchanging a sly glance with Harry.

Draco's eyes flashed in anger. "Don't mock my friends," he snapped. "They might not be at the top of the class but they aren't complete idiots. They have their u...strengths." He stumbled over the last word, barely catching himself in time. While his fellow Slytherins wouldn't bat an eye if he had said "uses," - in fact, they expected and encouraged it - he knew his Gryffindor friends would not take it well.

"Hmph," Ron said, unconvinced. Draco rolled his eyes and let it go.

They stopped in front of stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

"Pureblood," he said.

"That's your password?" Ron muttered.

"Shut up," Draco said. "I didn't pick it."

The hidden door slid open. They stepped into the Slytherin Common Room. It was a long room, decorated opulently in green, black, and silver. Round, greenish lamps hung from the ceiling; plush black couches were arranged around intricate silver coffee tables; and a warm fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece in the far wall.

Draco flopped down comfortably on one of the black couches. Harry and Ron tried to do the same, yet they remained, Draco noticed, very stiff.

"Relax," he hissed. His friends tried, but only ended up looking constipated. He sighed.

"How about you two go talk to that group of first years over there," he pointed.

They split up.

Draco sauntered over to a group of older students and leaned on the back of a couch.

"_You_," a familiar voice spat.

Draco looked up to see the fourth year girl he had beaten out for Seeker.

"Hello," he said, trying to sound calm. _What was her name…?_

"_I_ would have done so much better than you, _Malfoy_," she sneered. "The Snitch was hovering inches above your head during the first game. What are you, blind?"

Her companions – two girls and two boys – laughed uproariously.

Draco swallowed his rage. _Think, Draco, think_. _Ah, yes, Anita Mordaunt._

"I was actually looking for you, Anita," he said, the lie rolling smoothly off his tongue. She looked surprised. "I seem to remember you saying I was….a pretty little boy?"

She flushed bright red. Her companions laughed again, though this time one of the boys whistled and the girls eyed Draco appreciatively.

"You think you're something, huh?" she snarled, standing up. Draco drew himself up as well, glad that he happened to be barely an inch taller than her.

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

"Not really. I was just wondering… a beautiful girl like you wouldn't happen to know anything about the Heir of Slytherin, would you?" He tried to sound as smarmy as possible, imitating the oily manner of Mr. Borgin.

Surprisingly, it worked. Anita gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Her eyelashes began to flutter.

"No, I don't," she said, a little breathlessly. Draco wondered if she had ever been called beautiful in her life. Probably not.

She continued on, her voice dropping lower, licking her lips nervously. "However, I don't think it's a current student. Petrification is a – a very Dark spell, you know. I - I don't think anyone here could do it."

He flashed a charming smile at her. "Well, if you find out anything about it, please let me know."

He made to turn, but she caught his shoulder. "Wait…."

_CRASH!_

Startled, Draco glanced across the room. Greg – no, Harry – looked sheepish. He had knocked over one of the glass sculpture that decorated the coffee tables and it had shattered on the stone floor. The first year Slytherins looked horrified. Ron/Vince was bright red.

Draco shrugged off Anita's hand and strode quickly to his friends.

"I'm sorry, Draco, I'm just not used to -"

"It's alright," he cut Harry off. "A prefect or house-elf will fix it." Ignoring the staring first years, he jerked his head back towards a black couch and they reconvened.

"Find out anything?"

Ron shook his head. "They seem to think someone _outside_ is doing this," he said. "It's just as you said…they don't seem to have a clue as well."

"At least none of them suspect me," Harry mumbled.

Draco smiled grimly. "I told you," he said. "I didn't find out anything either. How much time do we have?"

Harry fumbled for his watch. "Er….one minute! Hurry, let's go!"

As they raced along the hall, Draco noticed Ron's hair returning to its original red color. Both of them were getting shorter, with Harry nearly tripping on his robes, which were now far too large for him. Ron's shoes kept sliding off his feet.

They sped into the bathroom, walked into their stalls, and changed. Draco hammered on the door of Hermione's stall.

"Go away!" Hermione squeaked.

Draco frowned. "What's the matter? You must be back to normal by now."

Hermione opened the door. Draco jumped back, startled. Her face was covered in black fur. Her eyes had turned yellow and there were long, pointed ears poking through her hair.

"It was cat hair! You gave me cat hair!" she howled.

Draco grabbed her hand – or rather, paw. "We've got to get you to Madam Pomfrey now," he said, panicking. "Polyjuice Potion isn't supposed to be used to animal transformation."

"What's going on?" Harry called out. He stepped out of his stall, then jerked back at the sight of Hermione. "Blimey….is that you, Hermione?"

Ron popped his head out of his stall to get a good look. His eyes widened and he stared slack-jawed at the cat-girl.

"This is all your fault!" she screamed at Draco.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. It'll be alright," he said, pulling her close. She clung to him, sobbing. He tried not to flinch as her furry ear brushed his cheek. "Let's take you on up to the hospital wing…"

"No, no, people will see me," she cried.

It took a long time to persuade Hermione to leave the bathroom. But eventually, with a large robe draped over her head, they steered her up to the hospital wing.

Draco sighed. It had been a _really_ unproductive evening.

* * *

Upon returning to the Slytherin Common Room, Draco spotted Pansy curled up on a couch, reading. He ran up to his dorm to fetch her present, then returned.

She looked up as he sat down next to her. "Oh, hey Draco," she said. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," he replied. "This is for you."

He held out the small box wrapped in emerald green with a silver ribbon. Her brown eyes sparkled as she opened it, then she gasped in pleasant surprise. It was a magical music box, with dancing figurines that jumped, twirled, and did any dance you told them to do. Draco had written his mother for help in selecting a present, and she had sent him this.

"Oh, thank you, Draco!" she threw her arms around him.

"No problem. Thanks for speaking up for me in Potions the other day," he said awkwardly.

Noticing his stiffness, Pansy giggled.

"Loosen up, Draco," she said. Then she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Blood rush to his face. Pansy was also bright red, but she was smiling. He felt a goofy grin spreading over his own face.

"W-well, see you around, Pansy," he stammered, and then ran upstairs. Throwing himself onto his bed, he grabbed his pillow, and buried his face into it.

"What's got your panties in a twist, Malfoy?"

Draco looked up to see Blaise Zabini lying in the bed next to his, looking at him curiously.

"Pansy kissed me," he moaned. He could still feel the heat from the blush on his cheeks.

Blaise's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "She _what_? A real kiss? Like, mouth-to-mouth?"

"No." Draco pointed to his cheek. "She kissed me right here."

The other boy sniggered. "That's the only kiss you're ever gonna get. Better not wash your face for the rest of your life!"

Draco sat up and threw his pillow at his fellow Slytherin in mock anger.

That night he fell asleep with a smile on his face. He thought of Pansy's sparkling eyes and her blush after she kissed him. Maybe the day hadn't been so bad after all.

* * *

**Draco isn't so suave yet, at twelve-years-old. And I promise he doesn't end up with Pansy. She is just a phase in his life. **

**Also, this story has reached 50 followers! Thank you all for the support. I'm glad that you are enjoying this story as much as I enjoy writing it.**


	16. The Diary

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

Hermione remained in the hospital wing for several weeks. Harry, Ron, and Draco went to visit her every evening. When the new term started, they brought her each day's homework.

She soon forgave Draco for giving her cat hair. "It's not your fault that you are an idiot," she said. Draco bristled, but kept his silence.

One day, in early February, they were heading to the hospital wing to see Hermione when they heard Filch shouting about flooding water. As they approached, he stomped off. Moaning Myrtle, the bathroom's resident ghost, started wailing.

"_Now _what's up with her?" said Ron.

"Let's go and see," said Harry.

They poked their heads around the corner. Myrtle was crying, louder and harder than ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual toilet.

"What's up, Myrtle?" said Harry.

She howled, causing the three boys to wince and cover their ears. "Come to throw something else at me? Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me…" She broke down into sobs.

They peered around the bathroom and saw the small, thin book lying under the sink. Harry stepped forward to pick it up, but Ron suddenly flung out an arm to hold him back.

"Are you crazy?" said Ron. "It could be dangerous!"

Draco stepped forward cautiously. He knew Ron was right – even something as innocuous as a book could be filled with Dark magic. His father had shown him far too many Dark objects, and visiting shops such as Borgin and Burkes had made him even more cautious. But this book looked familiar.

"This is Ginny's diary!" he exclaimed.

"What?" Ron and Harry looked stunned.

He picked it up. "Remember what I told you, Ron? Look here; 1943 is on the cover. And see -" He flipped open the book and pointed. "T. M. Riddle."

He began to turn the pages but Ron snatched it out of his hands.

"Don't look through my little sister's private stuff!"

Then he himself began flipping through the pages. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"She never wrote in it," said Ron, disappointed. The pages were completely blank.

They took it with them to the hospital wing and showed it to Hermione. She tried all sorts of spells, but couldn't get the diary to reveal its secrets.

Draco picked it up and carefully examined it. He ran his fingers over the cover, thinking hard. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had seen it before. A picture of his father's study floated into his mind.

"I think my dad has a similar book," he said slowly.

But Harry shook his head. He reached over and flipped the diary over in Draco's hands. On the back cover, there was a printed brand that Draco did not recognize.

"I can't imagine why your dad would have a book that came from a Muggle store," said Harry.

"Let's just give it back to Ginny," suggested Ron.

"She tried chucking it down a toilet. I don't think she wants it back," said Draco.

Ron shrugged. "We can just keep it then."

* * *

By the end of the week, Hermione had finally lost all of her cat features. She and Draco resumed their daily research sessions in the library.

Draco still felt extremely jittery about the diary. He complained about it to Hermione.

"Why did Ginny try to chuck an empty diary down the toilet? And how did she get a fifty-year-old book anyway? It doesn't make sense!"

"Focus, Draco," she snapped. "Chamber of Secrets, remember?"

"No one has been attacked since before Christmas, maybe the Heir of Slytherin has given up," he groaned. But he got up and started pacing back and forth. He rubbed at his temples. They were so close to figuring out the mystery…they were so close….

"Think, Draco, think," he said. "Parselmouth…controlling the monster in the Chamber of Secrets…Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth…"

Hermione gasped.

"What is it?" Draco asked.

"The monster in the Chamber of Secrets must be – oh, Draco, I know what it is!"

She flew to the bookshelves and pulled out a book.

"_A Basilisk_," she hissed, "King of Serpents. That's how the Heir of Slytherin can control it! It's the deadly enemy of spiders…its indirect gaze can Petrify…and it must be traveling through pipes, which is how it has been traveling all over school. It all fits!"

Draco was reading over her shoulder. "We need to warn people to use a mirror before they turn corners," he said. "We've gotten lucky so far, since no one has died, but it's only a matter of time…."

Hermione tore the page out of the book, shoved it back onto the shelf, and grabbed Draco's arm. "Let's go tell Harry and Ron now!"

She pulled out a hand mirror from her bag, and they quickly ran out of the library.

But after they had run up two floors, she skid to a halt.

"Wait!" she cried. "I forgot my Transfiguration textbook. Go and tell them, they should be in our Common Room. I'll be right there soon. But I only have one mirror – "

"I'll be alright, I'm a pureblood. The Heir won't attack me," he said. "Go! Hurry!"

Hermione gave a quick nod, and then turned around. He watched her run down one flight of stairs and then disappear around a corner.

He ran up several more flights of stairs and found the portrait of the fat lady, who was taking a nap. He had seen his Gryffindor friends climb through many times, but without the password, he was at loss for what to do.

"Um…ma'am?"

The lady woke up. She frowned at him, noticing his green and silver tie. "You're a _Slytherin_. Get away!" she screeched.

"I'm just looking for my friends," he said, struggling to remain polite. "Could you get them for me?"

"What, do I look like a dog to you?" she yelled. "Telling me to go fetch? The nerve! Shoo!"

Suddenly the portrait creaked open and a tall, redheaded boy stepped out. He had a gleaming prefect badge on his robes. "What's all the noise?" Then he saw Draco and frowned. "What are _you_ doing here, Slytherin?"

"I'm looking for Harry and Ron," said Draco.

Before the older boy could reply, the portrait swung open again and his two friends tumbled out.

"There you are, Draco!" yelled Ron frantically. "We were just looking for you!" Then he saw the older boy. "Percy, what are you -"

The sound of running footsteps reached them and they all turned to see Professor McGonagall rounding the corner with an enormous purple megaphone.

"All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, as quickly as possible, please!" her voice blared from the megaphone. Then she paused when she saw them.

"Percy, go help gather up the Gryffindors in the common room. I would like to speak to everyone. Potter, I think you'd better come with me. And you too, Ron. What are you doing here, Malfoy? Nevermind, you should return to your House."

She looked devastated. Draco had a feeling of dread. "Can I come too, professor?" he asked.

Professor McGonagall looked taken aback, but then she nodded. They walked to the hospital wing. And there was Hermione. She lay utterly still, her eyes open and glassy.

"They were found near the library," said Professor McGonagall. "I don't suppose any of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them. …"

She held up Hermione's hand mirror.

Draco stepped forward. "Hermione and I were researching in the library, ma'am. We think it's…it's a Basilisk." He couldn't keep his voice from trembling. Noticing the page torn from the book still clutched in Hermione's frozen hand, he reached over and gently wiggled it out of her grasp.

Professor McGonagall took the paper and smoothed it out to read. "I need to tell Albus at once," she murmured. "Stay here." She swept out of the room.

Harry and Ron's eyes were as round as the golden plates used in the Great Hall for meals.

"We thought it was Hagrid," said Harry.

He explained to Draco how he had, on a hunch, written in the diary. Surprisingly the diary had written back, and he had seen Hagrid…

Draco interrupted. "Where's the diary now?" he demanded.

Harry's face fell. "I went to dinner and left it in my dorm," said Harry. "And when I went back to get it...it was gone."

"Who do you think took it?"

"Has to be a Gryffindor," said Ron in a dark tone. "No one else could've gotten in."

"This isn't good...there is Dark magic in that diary," said Draco. "My father always said '_Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain._'"

Ron groaned loudly. "My dad says that too!"

Harry looked puzzled. "Are you saying that Ginny has been doing Dark magic?"

"I don't know, but we need to tell a professor – "

"No way!" Ron said hotly. "Ginny will get in trouble!"

Draco was about to argue back but the door opened and Professor McGonagall stepped through. The boys fell silent. "I will escort you two back to Gryffindor Tower," she said to Ron and Harry, running a frazzled hand through her hair. "Mr. Malfoy, you can make it down to your dormitory by yourself, can't you?"

Draco nodded and stood.

"Wait, what did Dumbledore say?" asked Harry.

Professor McGonagall looked grim. "I did not get the chance to speak with him. He's been given an Order of Suspension by the board of governors."

"But my _father_ is the chairman of the board!" Draco cried. "He couldn't have –"

Professor McGonagall glanced at him, and Draco quailed. Her eyes were full of barely contained fury. "He could, and he did," she said in a tight voice. "Now, Mr. Malfoy, _didn't I tell you to return to your House_?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said quickly, then scurried out of the room.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please review.**


	17. Ginny's Confession

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

With the two new attacks, all students were accompanied by a teacher at all times. They were escorted to each lesson by a teacher. They returned to their House by six o'clock every evening. It was impossible for him to find time to talk to his Gryffindor friends. And worst of all, all evening activities – including Quidditch practice and matches – were canceled.

Draco felt locked in. He threw himself into his studies even more than before. The weeks passed by quickly, and before he knew it, it was almost June. When Professor Snape informed them during Potions that they would have exams the following week, Draco was one of the few students who didn't moan and gripe.

Three days before their first exams, Lockhart was guiding the second year Slytherins through the hallways. As usual, the professor was complaining about something he knew nothing about.

Draco lagged at the end of the line. He hated listening to Lockhart babble.

As he was passing by the tapestry of Snidget-hunters, he heard a familiar sobbing. _What was Ginny Weasley doing down here again?_ He considered ignoring her, but another sob came from the curtain and he growled irritably. He _really_ could not stand it when people cried.

He glanced at Lockhart, who was paying no attention, and ducked behind the tapestry.

The young redheaded witch was crouched on the floor, rocking back and forth. In her hands was the diary.

"Why aren't you with your House?" he snarled, stepping into the hidden alcove.

She jumped up and gasped. "M-malfoy! You again!"

"And why do you have that book? It's dangerous! Give it over," he demanded, reaching out his hand.

Her eyes widened, but she clutched tightly at the book. "No!"

"Then tell me what's going on," he hissed.

She crouched down and began whimpering, sounding like a wounded animal, and resumed rocking back and forth on her heels. Slowly, he sat down as well and pulled her closer, into his shoulder.

"It'll be alright, Ginny, relax," he whispered, trying to calm her down.

And to his surprise, she began to speak.

She told him everything – writing in the diary; pouring out her secrets to Tom Riddle; how she seems to be losing her memory; her nightmares of opening the Chamber of Secrets and speaking to a huge snake; how she thinks that she is the one attacking Muggleborns…

When she finished, she turned to him. "Y-you can help me, right?"

He rubbed her shoulders gently. "Of course, Ginny. My father is on the board of governors, and I will – Ginny? Ginny!"

Before he could complete his sentence, the girl slumped to the ground. He shook her shoulder, but she didn't wake up.

"Ginny!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. He jumped to his feet and watched disbelievingly as the diary moved on its own accord and flipped open. A dark mist rose out of it, forming into the shape of a handsome, tall, older boy. He bent down, took Ginny's wand, and pointed it at Draco.

Draco knew that he was in terrible danger.

"Hello," the boy said, in a soft voice. "Who are you?"

"Draco Malfoy," he answered, eyes wide. Then something seemed to snap in place. "You are the Heir of Slytherin," he whispered. The boy's thin lips curved into a smile.

"Clever, aren't you?" he said.

Thinking quickly, Draco bowed. "I come from a long line of Slytherins," he said. "I would be honored to serve the true Heir."

"Malfoy, you said? Are you, by chance, related to an Abraxas Malfoy?"

Draco's heart leaped. "He is my grandfather," he said proudly, watching the boy carefully. The boy seemed pleased, and Draco breathed an inner sigh of relief.

"So you are a pureblood. Very nice. What do you know of Harry Potter?"

The question surprised Draco, but he answered without hesitation. "He trusts me. If he is who you want, I can bring him to you." _Please just let me go…_

Riddle's eyes flared and Draco swore he saw a red glint. He suppressed a shiver.

"Yes, he is who I want." He grinned cockily at Draco. "Bring Harry Potter to the Chamber of Secrets. You know that Potter speaks Parseltongue, correct?"

Draco numbly nodded.

"Then tell him everything that Ginny has told you. And he will come. You have one hour." Riddle turned and scooped up Ginny into his arms.

Draco couldn't resist. "W-what are you doing with Ginny?" he asked.

Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn't suit him. It made the hairs stand up on the back of Draco's neck.

"She will be bait," he said, his lips curled in a sneer. Then his eyes burned coldly into Draco's eyes. "If you tell anyone else besides Potter, then Ginny will die. And _you_ will be next."

With Ginny in his arms, Riddle stepped out of the alcove, the tapestry falling heavily behind him.

Draco stood rooted to the spot for a few seconds. Then he ran out from behind the tapestry. The hall was empty. Riddle and Ginny were nowhere to be seen.

He looked down at his trembling hands. He wanted to run to a professor – but who would believe him? This was insane! And he had no doubt that Riddle would kill Ginny in a heartbeat.

One hour to get Potter!

Suddenly, Professor McGonagall's voice came echoing through the corridors, magically magnified.

"_All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staffroom. Immediately, please._"

He started running towards Gryffindor Tower, when he bumped into Lockhart. The professor looked startled to see him.

"Malfoy! Didn't I just guide your class back to your dormitory?"

"Yes sir, but I had to run to the bathroom," Draco lied.

"Well, go on, you heard what Professor McGonagall said, get back to your House!"

Draco pretended to run back to the Slytherin Dungeons, but instead hid around the corner. When Lockhart rushed off to the staffroom, he continued up the seven flights of stairs to Gryffindor Tower.

The fat lady was not pleased to see him again. "Get away, Slytherin!" she hissed at him.

"Please, I need to talk to Harry Potter," he said desperately, hoping that Harry's name would appease the lady. It didn't work. The lady began yelling at him, until the portrait swung open and the redheaded Gryffindor prefect poked his head out.

"You again? Harry isn't here yet. Neither is Ron or Ginny," he said worriedly. He eyed Draco suspiciously. "You don't happen to know where they are, do you?"

Draco wanted to spill out Ginny's story, but then he recalled Riddle's warning. He swallowed nervously.

"No, I don't."

"You better get on down to the Slytherin Dungeons then," the prefect said.

Draco didn't move.

"Go on!" the prefect said, angrily.

"I need to talk to Harry!" Draco insisted.

The prefect drew himself up, puffing out his chest. "Now listen to me, I am a prefect and mark my words, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape will hear about this and you will –"

"Draco! Percy!" They turned to see Ron and Harry racing towards them. They both looked pale and worried.

"Percy," said Ron in a shaky voice. "Ginny's gone."

* * *

Somehow Draco found himself inside the Gryffindor common room, sitting beside Harry. On the couch across from them, Ron was telling his brothers everything he and Harry knew. The two Gryffindors had hidden in a closet in the teacher's staffroom and had heard everything.

_Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever. _Draco shivered. He looked at his pocket watch – it had already been twenty minutes.

He turned quietly to Harry, and started explaining everything he had seen. Harry's eyes widened.

"He wants me?" asked Harry in a hushed voice.

Draco nodded miserably. Harry thought for a moment, then he seemed to make up his mind. He looked up at Draco with a hard glint in his green eyes.

"D'you know what?" he said. "I think we should go down there. But we should tell Ron. He can get help, while we pretend to be alone."

Draco was worried. "I don't think it's safe to -," he began, but Harry cut him off.

"We can't just let Ginny die! You said you had one hour right? How much time do we have left now?"

Draco glanced at his watch again. "Thirty minutes."

And so they drew Ron to the side, away from his brothers.

"Look Ron," said Harry. "Could you do us a favor? We need you to go get Lockhart. He's going to try and get into the Chamber. So you need to tell him about the basilisk, and that the Chamber is in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

"Wait, how do you know where the Chamber is? And what are you two going to do?" Ron looked at them suspiciously.

"Ron, please," Harry begged. "We haven't got a lot of time. I promise to explain everything later. Go get Lockhart. Hurry!"

The Gryffindors around them were so devastated, and felt so sorry for the Weasleys, that nobody tried to stop them as they got up, crossed the room, and left through the portrait hole. Ron headed off towards Lockhart's office, while Draco and Harry hurried towards Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

* * *

They found the sink with the snake scratched on the side of one of the copper taps.

"That tap's never worked," said Myrtle brightly, as she hovered behind them.

"Harry," said Draco. "Say something in Parseltongue."

Harry stared hard at the tiny engraving. "Open up," he said.

Draco shook his head. "English."

Harry tried again. A strange hissing sound came out of his mouth, and at once the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. The sink began to move; in fact, it sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.

Draco and Harry looked at each other.

"This is it," Harry said.

He watched Harry clamber in, and slide out of sight.

For one brief second, Draco thought of running away. After all, Riddle only wanted Harry. He could walk away, walk back to the Slytherin Dungeon, sink into his nice, comfortable bed, and pretend that none of this ever happened. For one brief second, Draco almost let self-preservation overtake his loyalty to his friends.

But then, he thought of Hermione's glassy eyes, Ron's pale face, and Ginny's limp figure being carried off by Tom Riddle. He thought of Harry's determination.

He grit his teeth. And before he could lose his nerve, he lowered himself into the pipe.

As soon as he let go, he regretted his decision. _Professor Snape was right; being around bloody Gryffindors only leads to trouble_, he thought.

Draco shot out of the end of the pipe with a wet thud, landing on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel large enough to stand in. His robes were covered in slime, and he tried to wipe it off, but only succeeded in getting it all over his hands. Gross.

"We must be miles under the school," said Harry, his voice echoing in the black tunnel.

"Under the lake, probably," said Draco, squinting around at the dark, slimy walls.

They both turned to stare into the darkness ahead.

Draco fumbled for his wand. "_Lumos_!" he muttered. Harry followed suit. They stepped forward, their footsteps slapping loudly on the wet floor.

"Remember," Draco said quietly as they walked cautiously forward, "any sign of movement, close your eyes right away…"

Harry suddenly stopped and pointed. Draco could just see the outline of something huge and curved, lying right across the tunnel. It wasn't moving.

"Maybe it's asleep," Harry breathed.

Draco's heart was beating so fast it hurt. He stood, frozen, as Harry inched forward, his wand held high.

The light of Harry's wand slid over a gigantic snake skin, of a vivid, poisonous green. It was curled and empty. Draco let out a shaky breath. The creature that had shed it must have been twenty feet long at least.

"I can't do this," Draco said, weakly.

Harry looked at him evenly. "Yes you can," he said.

"W-where do you get the nerve?"

"I'm just as scared as you are," Harry replied. He looked Draco in the eyes, and indeed, Draco could see his friend's fear. "But Ginny…"

There was a momentary silence as they both thought of the small redheaded girl. Then Harry said, "Look, I can go alone. It's only me that he wants."

And somewhere deep in Draco's soul, he found an untapped reservoir of courage. He squared his shoulders, and looked fiercely back at Harry. It was a moment both would remember forever.

"You're my best friend. I'm not letting you go alone," he said.

Together, they stepped past the giant snake skin.

* * *

**One of the reviews suggested longer chapters. I agree, especially since as the books get longer, there is more stuff to write. I also hope to keep this under a hundred chapters (preferably under eighty!) and so the chapters will have to get longer. I hope they won't be too overwhelming.**

**The next chapter will be the final chapter of Book Two. **

**Thank you for reading, and please review. **


	18. King of Serpents

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

The tunnel turned and turned again. Every nerve in Draco's body was tingling unpleasantly. He wanted the tunnel to end, yet dreaded what he'd find when it did. And then, at last, as the two boys crept around yet another bend, they saw a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.

They approached. Draco's throat felt very dry. Beside him, Harry cleared his throat, and hissed. It was a strange, gargled sound.

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slide smoothly out of sight, and Draco, shaking from head to foot, followed Harry inside.

They were standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness. There was an odd, greenish gloom filling the place. The two boys stood in the chill silence. Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner? Behind a pillar? And where was Ginny - and Riddle?

Draco glanced at his pocket watch. They had five minutes.

Holding their wands before them warily, they moved forward between the serpentine columns. At the end of the Chamber, an enormous high statue loomed into view, standing back against the wall.

Draco had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above. He immediately recognized Salazar Slytherin, whose face was everywhere in his House dormitory.

From beside him, Harry gave a hoarse cry.

"Ginny!"

And before Draco could stop him, Harry was sprinting recklessly forward to the small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair lying at the base of the statue.

"Ginny – don't be dead – please don't be dead – please wake up –"

Harry flung his wand aside. Draco almost shouted out a warning, but then he noticed the tall, black-haired boy leaning against the nearest pillar. The boy gestured, and Harry's wand lifted into the air and flew into his hand.

_Idiot Gryffindor_, Draco thought. He gripped his own wand tightly, and quietly inched into the shadow of a pillar. Then he stayed as still as possible, hoping that Riddle wouldn't noticed him.

Riddle was looking at Harry with a greedy expression. "She won't wake," he said softly.

Harry spun around.

"Tom – _Tom Riddle_?" he cried.

Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry's face.

"What d'you mean, she won't wake?" Harry said desperately. "She's not – she's not - ?"

"She's still alive," said Riddle. "But only just."

Harry scrambled for his wand, then finally noticed Riddle twirling it between his long fingers.

Draco considered using magic to disarm Riddle, but something about the way Riddle held Harry's wand made him think that, if they dueled, Draco would lose. After all, Riddle was far older, and had managed to create the diary, which was evidently full of complex Dark magic.

_Please just delay for time until Ron gets here with help_, Draco thought, wishing that he could communicate telepathically with Harry. Luckily, Harry seemed to have the same idea.

"Where is the basilisk?" asked Harry slowly.

"It won't come until it is called," said Riddle calmly. He began to smile broadly. Draco felt a shiver travel down his spine. Something about that smile was familiar…

Harry and Riddle continued to talk. Draco patiently waited, praying for help to come. He noticed the odd red gleam in Riddle's eyes. Again it reminded Draco of….

Voldemort.

Draco started shaking harder than before. He remembered the nightmares he had last year, culminating with meeting the Dark Lord face-to-face. _This can't be happening again_, he thought. _Damn Potter_.

"Why do you care how I escaped?" Harry was saying. Draco noticed that the Gryffindor was dragging out his words slowly. "Voldemort was after your time. ..."

"Voldemort," said Riddle softly, "is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter. …"

He wrote in the air with Harry's wand, in shimmering golden letters:

tom marvolo riddle

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of the name rearranged themselves:

i am lord voldemort

Harry and Riddle kept talking. _Harry is sure good at distraction_, Draco thought. He began to breathe slowly, in and out, and gradually his shaking subsided. He continued praying for help to come. _Please Ron…_

"Dumbledore's not as gone as you might think!" Harry shouted.

Suddenly, unearthly music flowed into the Chamber. Riddle whirled around, but he didn't seem surprised to see Draco. Instead, he smirked at the Slytherin, and then continued scanning the area.

A crimson bird the size of a swan had appeared, piping its weird music as it flew. It had a glittering golden tail as long as a peacock's and gleaming golden talons, which were gripping a ragged bundle.

It flew straight at Harry. It dropped the ragged thing it was carrying at Harry's feet, and then landed heavily on his shoulder.

Riddle threw his head back and laughed. It was the high, cold laughter that sent chills down Draco's spine.

"This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat!"

Riddle strode towards the statue, and started hissing. Draco straightened up. Horrorstruck, he watched the Salazar Slytherin's gigantic stone face moving. Its mouth opened wider and wider, to make a huge black hole.

And something was slithering up from the depths of the statue's mouth.

Draco saw Harry shutting his eyes tight. Remembering that a basilisk's gaze can kill, he quickly did the same. He scrambled away blindly.

He heard Riddle screaming at the snake in Parseltongue. Then he felt something wet dripping over him.

Draco couldn't help it – he had to know what was going on. Was Harry still alive? He opened his eyes.

The phoenix was soaring around the basilisk's head. Both of the basilisk's yellow eyes had been punctured by the phoenix. Blood was streaming to the floor, and all over Draco, and the snake was spitting in agony.

And suddenly it turned to Draco. Although blind, it was still dangerous. It started sniffing its way towards him.

Draco screamed. He started running away – he didn't care where, he just needed to get away –

Then he heard Harry yell behind him, and he ducked just as the basilisk lunged blindly. It hit the wall. Then Harry was sprinting past him – somehow he had a sword glittering in his hand. The basilisk lunged towards Harry, but Harry threw his whole weight behind the sword and drove it to the hilt into the roof of the serpent's mouth.

But Harry didn't escape unscathed. Draco watched in horror as one of the basilisk's long, poisonous fangs sank into Harry's arm, just above his elbow. As the serpent sank to the ground, Harry also fell. He collapsed on the ground, tried to get up, and failed.

Everything seemed to stop. Draco couldn't see anything except for Harry's green eyes, locked on his, clouding over...fading...he ran desperately towards his friend.

"Harry!" he yelled hoarsely, his throat tightening. "No... Harry, please...no..."

A patch of scarlet flew past, and the phoenix laid its head over Harry's arm. It started crying.

Riddle snarled. "Phoenix tears!"

Draco spun around just in time to see Riddle pointing his wand at the phoenix. Somehow he still had his own wand tight in his grip, and he pointed it at Riddle.

"_Expelliarmus_!" he cried.

Harry's wand flew out of Riddle's grasp and the boy's face contorted with rage.

"_Traitor_," he hissed. He scrambled for Harry's wand, but Draco was faster and already had it in his grasp. He pointed both wands at Riddle.

The older boy narrowed his eyes at him.

"You can't kill me," Riddle said slyly. "I am alive because of Ginny. You can only kill me if you kill her, too."

Draco's mind spun. He knew Riddle was lying. He thought back to all the Dark objects his father had shown him, and everything Lucius had ever said about the Dark Arts. The answer flashed into his mind: _get the diary_.

He glanced away to look for the book, but Riddle lunged forward. Draco was knocked to the ground, narrowly missing the basilisk fang lying on the floor next to Harry.

As he struggled with Riddle, he saw Harry, miraculously, climbing to his feet.

A sudden burst of hope filled Draco's chest, but Riddle was still bigger, and stronger. The wands were wrestled out of Draco's grasp, and Riddle stood over him with a twisted, gleeful look on his face. He bent down to whisper in Draco's ear. Draco felt a wand prodding into his neck.

"You are a traitor," Riddle said again, sneering. "You are not a true Slytherin. Your grandfather would be ashamed of you."

Draco took a deep breath.

"HARRY! Kill the diary!" he screamed. Then he spit in Riddle's face.

Riddle's face contorted with hate. He raised a wand. "_Avada Ke-_"

Then his back arched and he shrieked, falling to the floor. Draco leaped up and reclaimed his and Harry's wands as Riddle writhed, and twisted, screaming and flailing and then –

He was gone.

Draco looked in shock at Harry, who was holding the basilisk fang that was plunged into the diary. The diary was lying open, ink spurting out in torrents. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it.

He was alive. Harry was alive.

He had watched the basilisk fang pierce Harry's arm, but one glance at his friend showed him that his arm was whole and unharmed.

"How?" said Draco, his head in a daze.

"I think the phoenix healed me," said Harry, panting.

Draco stumbled over to Harry and handed him his wand.

Harry grinned, and draped an arm over the Slytherin's shoulder.

They smiled broadly at each other. There were no words to express the joy and relief bursting inside of them.

* * *

Ginny woke up. The two boys helped her out of the Chamber. Led by the phoenix, whose wide scarlet wings emitted a soft golden glow in the darkness, they walked back up the dark tunnel. After a few minutes' progress, they heard Ron's voice floating down the tunnel.

"Hurry, professor, it can't be far now – "

They rounded the corner to see Ron dragging Professor Lockhart towards them.

"Ron!" Harry yelled, speeding up. "Ginny's okay! We've got her!"

Ron gaped, then a wide grin split across his face. But as soon as he took a step forward, Lockhart tackled him and grabbed his wand.

"The adventure ends here, boys!" he gloated. "I'll be the hero! Say good-bye to your memories!"

Draco moved for his own wand but it was too late. Lockhart raised Ron's Spellotaped wand high over his head and yelled, "_Obliviate_!"

Ron's wand exploded with the force of a small bomb. Draco was knocked off his feet. When the dust settled, he saw Lockhart sitting in the middle of a pile of rocks, with a strange, blank look on his face. Draco walked carefully up to him as Harry helped Ginny up.

"Hello," the professor said, in an odd voice. "Who are you? Who am I? What am I doing here?"

Ron came up next to Draco and peered at Lockhart. "Professor -?"

But Lockhart's face stayed blank as he looked back over his shoulder. "There's a professor here? Wait…am I a professor? Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?"

Draco snorted. "The Memory Charm must have backfired. Ron, your wand deserves a trophy."

The ragtag party walked all the way to the mouth of the pipe. Draco bent down and looked up the long, dark chute that led from the bathroom.

"How are we going to get back up this?" he wondered out loud.

The phoenix was fluttering in front of Harry. Harry turned quickly to the others. "He can take us all up. We've got to hold on to each other."

And so Draco held on to Harry's hand, while grasping onto Professor Lockhart's arm with the other. An extraordinary lightness spread throughout his whole body and suddenly they were all flying upward through the pipe. Draco could hear Lockhart dangling below him, saying, "Amazing! Amazing! This is just like magic!"

They landed in the bathroom. And soon they found themselves outside Professor McGonagall's office.

Harry knocked and pushed the door open.

* * *

Draco stood awkwardly by the door as Harry, Ginny and Ron were swept into Mrs. Weasley's tight embrace. Professor Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming at Harry, and next to him was Professor McGonagall, who was gasping and clutching her chest.

Harry started telling them everything. He was a very good storyteller. _No wonder he had been able to capture Riddle's attention for so long_, Draco thought.

When Harry finished, Dumbledore directed McGonagall, the Weasleys, and Lockhart up to the infirmary. Only Harry and Draco remained.

"Sit down, Harry," the Headmaster said. "You too, Draco."

Draco sat, feeling unaccountably nervous. He listened silently as Dumbledore and Harry spoke. He was surprised at how vehemently Harry didn't want to be in Slytherin.

Then Dumbledore turned his attention to him. Draco couldn't meet his eyes. He looked down at the floor.

"I want to thank you too, Draco," said Dumbledore. "It has been a long time since a Slytherin and a Gryffindor have struck up a friendship like you have with Harry. You know, Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor were best friends, before they let silly concerns with blood purity divide them."

Draco looked up in surprise. Dumbledore smiled at him, his blue eyes twinkling.

Something was gnawing at Draco. "Riddle said I wasn't a true Slytherin," he mumbled, scuffing his feet on the floor. "He said that my grandfather would be ashamed of me…"

"Listen to me, Draco," Dumbledore said gently. "Today, you have displayed resourcefulness – determination – loyalty – a certain disregard for rules – all qualities that Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students. The Sorting Hat placed you immediately in Slytherin, if I recall correctly?"

Draco nodded, although he still had a funny feeling in his stomach.

Dumbledore's expression changed. He almost looked sad. Draco stared at him worriedly. "No matter what your grandfather would have said – or your father – you should be proud of yourself. You don't always have to walk the path your ancestors walked, Draco. Remember, it is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities, or blood."

Draco's stomach did a backflip. It sounded like Dumbledore was trying to warn him about his family. But that went against everything Draco had ever been taught. His family was a source of pride and identity – was Dumbledore saying that this was wrong?

Draco was utterly confused.

Suddenly the door burst open. Draco spun around – and there was his father. Dobby, their house elf, followed behind him. Draco glared at the little elf. Dobby had threatened Harry's life too many times this year, and Draco planned on making him pay, despite whatever he had promised Hermione.

Lucius Malfoy looked furious. "So!" he said to Dumbledore. "You've come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts."

"Well, you see, Lucius," said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, "the other eleven governors contacted me today. They'd heard that Arthur Weasley's daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. Very strange tales they told me, too. …Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn't agree to suspend me in the first place."

Draco glanced at his father. Lucius went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury.

"So – have you stopped the attacks yet?" he sneered. "Have you caught the culprit?"

As his father and Dumbledore talked, Draco listened carefully. Harry was staring at Dobby strangely, but Draco ignored him. He was far more interested in what the adults had to say.

When Dumbledore mentioned Mr. Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, Draco suddenly recalled the fight at Flourish and Blotts. His father had grabbed one of Ginny's books – and earlier, Ginny had said that she found the diary in one of her textbooks. It had been so unlike his father to pick a public fistfight with Mr. Weasley. His father usually preferred manipulating from behind the scenes. Had it all been part of a plot… to frame Ginny Weasley and undermine her father's efforts at the Ministry?

And then with a flash of clarity he remembered why Riddle's diary had seemed so familiar. It had sat for years, on a shelf behind his father's desk, in his study.

With dread, Draco thought over his logic. He trusted his own judgment, but didn't like his conclusion. He noticed Dumbledore watching him carefully. He kept silent.

Harry suddenly spoke up. He had somehow reached the same conclusion as Draco. "You gave it to her, Mr. Malfoy. In Flourish and Blotts. You picked up Ginny's old Transfiguration textbook and slipped the diary inside, didn't you?"

When his father replied, "_Prove it_," Draco knew that Harry had spoken the truth.

His father looked hard at Draco. They both knew that, if Draco spoke up, it would be damning evidence. Draco stared back, hoping that his expression was blank.

The tension in the air stretched tight. "You're coming home with me, Draco. Now," said Lucius.

Draco protested. "But what about the feast –"

"We're going home," his father repeated firmly.

Draco didn't see Dumbledore's warning glance, and he tried again. "I just faced a _basilisk_. I'm tired and hungry. Please, Dad, can I go –"

His father froze. He turned, his grey eyes as hard as stone as he looked at his son.

"_What. Did. You. Say?_"

But Draco had enough. He stood up and yelled, "I just faced a basilisk with Harry Potter and saved Ginny Weasley's life! So can I go to the feast?"

His father was trembling.

Dumbledore stood up as well. "Lucius, your son has done a great service for the school and –"

Lucius interrupted, his eyes firmly on Draco. "I cannot believe my own son would disgrace me like this," he said in a low, dangerous voice.

Something inside of Draco snapped.

"I just helped save a girl's life and you don't even care? Nothing will ever be enough," he snarled. "I will never be able to make you proud of me, will I?"

"I've given you everything you ever asked for," his father said, in a voice that could cut steel. "Stop being ungrateful. We're going home. _Now_."

Draco finally wilted. He cast a longing glance back at Harry, then followed his father out of the room.

They were halfway down the hall when he heard Harry running to them.

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry gasped, skidding to halt. "I've got something for you –" He shoved something into his father's hands.

"What the –?" Lucius threw the sock off the diary. Draco watched in horror as the sock soared through the air in a beautiful arc – and landed in Dobby's hands.

"Got a sock," said Dobby. He was looking at the sock as though it were a priceless treasure. "Master threw it and Dobby caught it, and Dobby – Dobby is _free_."

His father lunged for Harry, but Dobby shouted, "You shall not harm Harry Potter!"

There was a loud bang, and his father was thrown backwards. He got to his feet, shaking with rage, grabbed Draco's arm and dragged him out.

* * *

Back at Malfoy Manor, Draco cleaned himself up, and then sat sullenly on his bed as his father paced back and forth in his room.

"You are no longer to be friends with Harry Potter," Lucius spat.

"You can't decide my friends for me," said Draco, rebelliously.

"I am your father! I want only the best for you! Why can't you get that through your stubborn skull?"

"Maybe I'm the only one who can decide what's best for me!"

"You almost got yourself _killed_ today. That is _not_ what is best for you. You are my only child. If something were to happen to you –" His father's gaze was haunted.

"Then maybe you shouldn't have given that book to Ginny Weasley," said Draco.

His father sneered. "Listen, boy, there are things in this world that you won't understand until you are older. Until you do, just do as I say and stay away from Harry Potter. Being friends with him will only lead to trouble."

_He has a point_, Draco thought. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Alright, Father," he said. "But why did I have to miss the feast? Or leave the school? I have exams in three days!"

His father sat beside him and put his arm around his son. Draco leaned against him, resting his head on his father's shoulder.

"Exams have been canceled. And as for missing the feast…Draco, listen to me carefully. This is very important. Tell _no one_ that you helped destroy the diary. Ever." Lucius' voice was thick with worry and concern.

Draco looked up. "Why?"

"You will understand someday."

"I'm not stupid! Tell me now. Please, Father?"

His father gently placed a hand under his chin. "I know you are not stupid. But you are too young to be burdened with these worries. I promise that you will understand someday. Just not now." He stood up. "Do not ask any more questions, Draco. Dinner will be downstairs at seven o'clock."

Lucius stepped out of the room.

Draco leaned back, sprawling on his bed. He felt disappointment well up inside him. He imagined the glorious feast that all the other Hogwarts students were enjoying. Gryffindor had probably won the House Cup again this year. And despite his efforts, again he would go unrecognized for the role he played in helping Harry.

But then he thought about his father's warning that he should not tell anyone about helping destroy the diary. Draco didn't know what Lucius was warning against – but he knew that it was dangerous. His father had never before shown worry or fear in front of his son.

_Why was it so dangerous for me to have helped destroy the diary?_ Draco wondered. As he got ready for dinner, he thought about everything that had happened that day. It was too much; his brain felt like it was on overload.

There was something going on that was far bigger than him, Draco realized. If he had to pick a side, between Harry and his father…

Draco wasn't so sure which side he would choose.

* * *

**This concludes Book Two. Please let me know what you think about longer chapters (like this one.) **

**Also, this story has reached (oh my gosh) 70 followers! Thanks for the support, and as always, thanks for reading.**


	19. Buckbeak

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

Draco, Vince, and Greg lazed in the sitting room in Malfoy Manor. They were all slightly sweaty, their hair windswept, as they had just came inside from playing a little pick-up Quidditch.

Greg and Vince were sitting on the lushly carpeted floor, curiously examining Draco's copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters_, which was bound tightly shut with a length of rope. The book was shuddering angrily in Greg's grasp, emitting occasional snarls.

Draco was draped over a posh white leather couch. He had grown a few inches over the last year, and was now rather gangly. He had also stopped slicking his blonde hair back, instead letting it fall naturally and messily about his face. Over the summer, he had begun to notice young witches eyeing him, and he had developed a nonchalant way of ruffling his hair when he thought they were looking.

He picked up the morning copy of the _Daily Prophet_ from the coffee table and scanned the front page.

"They still haven't caught Black," he said, in a bored tone. "It's been a whole month. The man murdered thirteen people with a single curse. I'm surprised no one else has died yet."

Greg and Vince chuckled trollishly. Behind the paper, Draco rolled his eyes. He would never admit this to anyone, but he was itching to get back to Hogwarts. Greg and Vince were good for horsing around with, but he was beginning to despair for intelligent conversation.

He continued reading the paper. Suddenly, he heard a hoarse yell. He jerked the paper down to glare at Vince and Greg. They had unbound his book and now Greg was hopping around the room on one foot, with the book tightly clamping onto his other.

"Idiots," Draco muttered, and then leapt to wrestle the book off of Greg's foot. He clamped the struggling book tightly in his arms. With a sheepish expression, Vince handed him the rope. Draco rebounded the book so it could no longer flap open.

He tossed the book at Greg's head and was pleased when he hit his target. Greg growled playfully and threw it back towards Draco. But even as the three boys roughhoused – until Narcissa Malfoy came in and yelled at them to go play outside – Draco couldn't help but wish that the summer would pass by faster.

* * *

He automatically searched the crowd on Platform 9¾ for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Then he felt his father's hand grasping his arm warningly. He jerked his arm away, and looked at his father sullenly.

Lucius Malfoy had warned his son to stay away from Harry Potter. But Draco had done a lot of thinking over the summer, and decided to "semi-obey." Meaning that he would still spend time with his Gryffindor friends – mostly because if he had to spend all his time with Greg and Vince, he would go insane – but if there was any sign of trouble, he would bail.

He wrinkled his nose at that thought. After having Harry save his life during first year, and then facing the basilisk with him during second year, the thought of leaving Harry to fend for himself was not appealing. A Slytherin stood loyal with his friends, even if he was willing to throw everybody else to hell.

_Hopefully Harry won't get into any scrapes this year_, Draco thought. Then he sighed. Who was he kidding? Harry's track record for getting into life-threatening situations thus far has been pretty spectacular. With Harry's luck, that infamous criminal, Sirius Black, would end up at Hogwarts, out for his blood.

Draco pushed the thought out of his mind. That scenario was too crazy to be true. If he were Black, then he would have escaped off to a beautiful foreign country and be enjoying a nice, long, extended vacation.

He boarded the train and stowed his trunk in the compartment by Greg and Vince. Around midafternoon, he finally could no longer stand their idiocy and decided to search for his Gryffindor friends.

When he found them, he grinned teasingly and leaned against the doorway. "Well, look who it is," he drawled. "Potty and the Weasel." He caught Hermione's eye and winked at her.

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Harry, though he was smiling broadly. He gestured to the seat across from him, next to Hermione. Draco sat and stretched his long limbs languidly, like a cat. He noticed the man sleeping in the far corner of the compartment.

"Who's that?" he tilted his head.

"New teacher," said Ron, who was sitting next to Harry.

The four students talked animatedly. Draco couldn't keep the silly grin off his face – his happiness at seeing his friends felt like it would burst out of him.

The train started to slow down.

"We can't be there yet," said Hermione, checking her watch.

Draco checked his own watch as well, and frowned. The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness.

"What's going on?" said Ron. His voice changed in volume, as if he had stood up to wander in the darkness.

"Ouch!" gasped Hermione, from next to Draco. "Ron, that was my foot! Sit down!"

"D'you think we've broken down?" asked Draco.

"Dunno …" said Ron.

The compartment door suddenly opened and someone fell in.

"Sorry – d'you know what's going on? – Ouch – sorry – " Neville said, as he stumbled over their legs.

Harry pulled Neville up by his cloak, and guided him to the seat next to him. With five students and a sleeping man, the compartment was getting crowded.

"I'm going to go and ask the driver what's going on," came Hermione's voice. Draco's lips curled. He grasped for her hand.

"You are not going to wander about in the dark, Hermione," he said.

"Let go, Draco!" she said, trying to jerk away.

"Use some common sense!"

The door slid open again, and there was another thud and two loud yelps of pain. Draco dragged Hermione back down to her seat. "Fools," he muttered.

"Ginny?"

"Harry?"

"What are you doing?"

"I was looking for Ron – "

"Come in and sit down – "

"Ouch!" said Neville.

"Quiet!" said a hoarse voice suddenly.

The man appeared to have woken up at last. There was a soft, crackling noise, and a shivering light filled the compartment. The professor appeared to be holding a handful of flames. They illuminated his tired, grey face, but his eyes looked alert and wary.

"Stay where you are," he said.

But his words weren't necessary. The door slid open. Everyone froze in fear.

Standing in the doorway was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. It drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.

An intense cold swept over them all. Draco felt his own breath catch in his chest. The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very heart…he felt an indescribable despair sweep over him, as if he would never be happy again…

And then the professor stepped up to the hooded figure, his wand raised.

"None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go," he said, in a low, firm voice. When the figure didn't move, the professor muttered, "_Expecto Patronum_."

A silvery thing shot out of his wand. And finally, the hooded figure glided away, closing the door behind it. And though no light turned on, the compartment suddenly seemed a million times brighter.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then with a lurch, the lights came back on and the train started moving again.

Draco was still clutching Hermione's hand. Their hands were sweaty and shaky. He tried to let go, but he couldn't seem to move his fingers. Instead, Hermione grasped his hand even tighter.

"Harry! Harry! Are you all right?"

Draco looked up to see Ron slapping Harry's face. Harry had slid out of his seat onto the floor, and was passed out, his glasses hanging crookedly.

The professor – Professor Lupin, as he introduced himself – passed around small squares of chocolate. Draco took a tentative bite, and to his great surprise, felt warmth spread suddenly to the tips of his fingers and toes.

Next to him, Hermione blushed and suddenly released his hand.

A voice drifted from the floor. "I don't get it. … What happened?"

Harry was finally awake. Professor Lupin and Ron helped him to his seat. As Ron spoke to Harry, Draco turned to whisper in Hermione's ear.

"Why was that _thing_ looking for Sirius Black here?"

Hermione looked at him with a worried expression. Her hand twitched as if she wanted to grab Draco's hand again.

"The Ministry thinks that Sirius Black is after Harry… The guards at Azkaban say that Black talks in his sleep… always the same words. '_He's at Hogwarts_.' So they set dementors to guard the school. And I guess to search the train too, just in case."

Hermione shivered.

Draco groaned and leaned back in his seat, running his hands through his hair. Seems like he was right about Harry's misfortunes.

He wished he had been wrong.

* * *

They stood in the entrance hall after breakfast, comparing schedules.

Draco had selected three electives: Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, and Study of Ancient Runes. His schedule was slightly fuller than the average third year student, since most merely took the requisite two electives.

But Hermione had decided to take all five electives. He snatched her schedule out of her hand.

"Muggle Studies? You're Muggleborn, what do you need that for? And Divination is a useless class, or so I've heard –"

"Give that back! You're so rude, Draco," she said huffily. "I think it'd be _fascinating_ to study Muggles from a wizarding perspective. And no class is _ever _useless!"

Draco rolled his eyes. He held the piece of parchment high, just out of her grasp, still reading it.

"At least we've got Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, and Potions together," he said. Then he frowned as he noticed the time slots.

"Hermione, they've messed up your schedule. Look, you have Divination, Muggle Studies _and_ Arithmancy at nine o'clock. How're you supposed to be in three classes at once?"

Hermione gave up jumping for her schedule. "Don't be silly," she said shortly. "Of course I won't be in three classes at once."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. "Then how –"

"We're going to be late for Arithmancy, Draco. Come on," she said, stomping off without her schedule.

Ron stared after Hermione oddly. "She's up to something," he said.

Draco shrugged. "See you two after lunch with Hagrid," he called over his shoulder, as he followed after Hermione.

* * *

Draco sat next to Hermione for Arithmancy. Not surprisingly, the class was very small. Professor Vector had the reputation of being a very strict witch. By the time he walked out of the classroom, Draco's head was spinning with numbers and charts, and he had twelve inches of homework due by next week.

"I think this is going to be my new favorite subject," Hermione gushed.

Draco smiled. "You haven't even tried your other four electives yet," he teased.

Hermione gasped as if she suddenly remembered something. "I – I need to go to the bathroom," she said.

"Want me to wait for you?" asked Draco politely.

"No, go ahead, I'll see you after lunch."

Draco nodded. He walked to the entrance hall to meet up with Harry and Ron.

Hermione was sitting with them. Draco did a double-take.

"Hermione, didn't you just go to the bathroom?" he asked, puzzled.

Hermione looked confused. "I – I did?" she said uncertainly.

"Wait, Hermione was with us the whole time since Divination, right Harry?" said Ron.

Hermione suddenly stood up.

"I forgot a textbook in Divination," she said, rushing off.

_But she hasn't even been to Divination yet_, Draco thought, confused. He ran his fingers through his hair, then noticed a pair of second year Ravenclaw girls looking at him and giggling. He flashed them a smile, pushing thoughts of Hermione's strange behavior out of his mind.

* * *

After lunch, he grabbed his wriggling copy of _The_ _Monster Book of Monsters_ and trooped off towards Hagrid's hut. He wasn't happy about Hagrid teaching this class – too bad Professor Kettleburn had retired. From his experiences with the gamekeeper, he knew that Hagrid had a warm heart, but strange ideas about dangerous magical creatures.

After all, he had willingly and lovingly raised a vicious three-headed dog named Fluffy, a giant Acromantula with a taste for human flesh, and a Norwegian Ridgeback Dragon that almost bitten off Ron's hand two years ago.

Vince and Greg walked beside Draco, trying to hit each other with their own snapping books.

After a few minutes of dodging the vicious books, he had enough. "Knock it off," he snarled. His two sidekicks sullenly put their books away, walking along silently.

The Slytherins had Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors. Harry, Ron, and Hermione waved at him from the front of the class.

"C'mon, now, get a move on!" called Hagrid. "Everyone here? Right, follow me!"

For one nasty moment, Draco thought that Hagrid was going to lead them into the Forbidden Forest. However, Hagrid strolled off around the edge of the trees, and five minutes later, they found themselves outside a kind of paddock.

"Now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books – "

Draco glanced around. Like him, Vince and Greg had used rope to bind their books shut. Others, like Harry, had used belts, or crammed them inside tight bags, or clamped them together with binder clips.

None of them moved to open their books.

After a few seconds of silence, Draco spoke up. "How?" he said, coolly.

"Eh?" said Hagrid.

"How do we open our books?" Draco repeated, his voice even colder than before.

Hagrid looked around crestfallen. "Yeh've got ter _stroke _'em," said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Look – "

He took Hermione's copy and ripped off the Spellotape that bound it. The book tried to bite, but Hagrid ran a giant forefinger down its spine. The book shivered, and then fell open and lay quiet in his hand.

"Oh, how silly we've all been," Draco said sarcastically. "We should have _stroked_ them! Why didn't we guess!"

"I – I thought they were funny," Hagrid said uncertainly.

"Tremendously funny," Draco sneered. "Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off."

"Shut up, Draco," said Harry, quietly.

Surprised, Draco looked at his friend. Harry was staring worriedly at Hagrid. With a start, Draco realized that Harry wanted Hagrid's first lesson to be a success. Draco's jaw tightened, but he didn't speak. He wouldn't have kept quiet for anybody else, but he held too much respect for Harry.

"Righ' then," said Hagrid. "So…yeh've got yer books an' now yeh need the Magical Creatures. So I'll go an' get 'em. Hang on…"

And then, trotting towards them were a dozen of the most bizarre creatures Draco had ever seen. They had the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings, and heads of what seemed to be giant eagles.

"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid roared happily. "Beau'iful, aren' they?"

Draco could see what Hagrid meant. The hippogriffs looked strong and healthy, with gleaming coats that changed smoothly from feather to hair, each of them a different color: stormy grey, bronze, pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut, and inky black.

"Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' hippogriffs is, they're proud," said Hagrid. "Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do. Yeh always wait fer the hippogriff ter make the firs' move. It's polite, see?"

He described the proper way to approach a hippogriff, and then asked for volunteers.

"I'll do it," said Harry, stepping forward.

The corner of Draco's mouth quirked up. Of course. He watched admiringly as Harry bravely climbed over the paddock fence, even though a part of him wanted to scream at his friend and tell him to have a little more concern for his own safety.

Harry bowed to the grey hippogriff, named Buckbeak. For a few frightening seconds, Buckbeak stared haughtily at him without moving.

Then it bent its scaly front knees and bowed.

When Harry moved forward to touch the hippogriff's beak, the class broke into applause.

Emboldened by Harry's success, the rest of the class climbed cautiously into the paddock. Draco, Vince and Greg went towards Buckbeak.

The hippogriff bowed to Vince, who started patting his beak. Greg and Draco stood off to the side, watching curiously.

"This isn't so hard," Vince said slowly to the hippogriff. "I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you, you great ugly brute?"

Draco tensed up, immediately recognizing that Vince had made a mistake. Before he had time to shout a warning, there was a flash of steely talons; Vince let out a high-pitched scream. He fell to the floor, blood gushing from his arm. Buckbeak reared over him, preparing to strike again. Hagrid was racing across the paddock but wasn't going to make it in time –

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Harry running to restrain the angry hippogriff, but Buckbeak wheeled around. Before he knew what he was doing, Draco threw himself in front of Harry.

He felt a blazing pain tear across his chest.

Vaguely, he felt another jolt as his body hit the ground. He looked down and saw a lot of blood. There were voices yelling his name, but it all seemed very far away. His vision blurred, and then everything faded to black.

* * *

Draco's torso was wrapped in bandages. Madam Pomfrey had healed the wound, but said that there would be a large scar, as well as itchiness and pain for a few days. He had to stay overnight in case of complications.

Vince had been healed and released already. His wound was much less severe, with minimal scarring.

"My father is going to kill me," Draco groaned. He sipped on a glass of water, trying to get the vile taste of Blood-Replenishing Potion out of his mouth.

"Why? He should be proud of you," said Hermione, who was sitting next to Ron and Harry. Harry looked especially miserable.

Draco snorted, then winced as pain shot across his chest. "Yeah, right. I promised him I wouldn't put myself in any more life-threatening situations," he explained.

Hermione snorted. "You landed in here twice during our first year, remember? This isn't anything new."

"I didn't tell him anything about our first year," Draco said miserably. He suddenly recalled how Dumbledore hadn't acknowledged him at all during the end-of-year ceremony. Had Dumbledore known how his father would react?

"Well, you don't have to say anything about this either," said Ron.

"Let's see…" Draco counted off his fingers. "Pansy, Vince, Greg, Daphne, Millie and Theo all saw this happen. And their parents are all pretty chummy with mine. I think my father is definitely going to find out," he said glumly. "At least during first year, no one saw anything except Harry."

"This is all my fault," said Harry, burying his face in his hands.

"No it's not. Vince is just stupid," said Draco.

Then he heard his father's voice coming from the hallway, talking to Madam Pomfrey. Draco's eyes widened. Shit, he was disobeying his father by remaining friends with Harry.

"Quick, get under the bed," he hissed.

"Why?"

"Just do it! Hurry!"

The three Gryffindors scrambled under Draco's bed. He hastily arranged his blanket so that it covered the gap between the bed and the floor.

Madam Pomfrey poked her head around the corner. "Where did your friends go?" she asked innocently.

"They left," Draco lied.

"Well, your father is here to see you," she said kindly.

Lucius Malfoy walked in. Outwardly he looked calm, but Draco noticed a muscle twitching in his jaw. Draco knew from experience that this was not a good sign.

"How are you feeling, Draco?"

"Fine."

His father snorted. "You don't look fine." He pulled up the chair that Hermione had sat in. "Tell me what happened."

"We were in Care of Magical Creatures. It was our first lesson. The teacher showed us hippogriffs. And Vince was an idiot and insulted one. And – and I jumped in front of him."

Lucius looked at his son suspiciously. "You jumped in front of him? Why didn't you just let Vince take what he was due?"

"I wasn't thinking. Sorry, father," Draco mumbled.

"And Potter had nothing to do with this?"

"Nothing at all, sir," Draco replied, keeping his voice steady.

Lucius nodded, visibly relaxing. Yet his grey eyes were hard as he looked at his son. "What is the teacher's name?"

"Hagrid," said Draco. "Professor Kettleburn retired this year."

"That giant oaf, eh?" Lucius sneered. "Well, I will put in a complaint with the board." He stood up and placed a gentle hand on Draco's shoulder.

"Get better soon," he said. Draco nodded, distracted by the sudden itchiness of his chest. He rubbed absently at his bandages.

When his father stepped out, the three Gryffindors crawled out from under his bed.

"Your father is even more of an asshole than you," Ron grumbled. Draco glared at him in mock anger.

"This is horrible!" Hermione cried, "Your father is going to get Hagrid bagged!"

Draco flinched. "What?"

"Didn't you hear him? He's putting in a complaint with the board."

Draco frowned. _Maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing_, he thought. But he kept quiet, not meeting Hermione's eyes. He was relieved when Harry changed the subject.

"Why did your father ask if I was involved?" said Harry.

Draco looked up. "He doesn't like us being friends," he said heavily. "If you remember last year…."

Harry nodded understandingly. He had freed Dobby, the Malfoy's house elf. Adding insult to injury, he had accused Lucius of being the one who gave Ginny Weasley the diary of Tom Riddle. To put it lightly, he and Draco's father did not get along.

Draco leaned his head back. He felt incredibly tired. "I'll see you guys tomorrow?"

After his friends left, with Madam Pomfrey looking after them with a puzzled expression, Draco fell into a fitful slumber.

* * *

**And thus begins the adventure of Book Three. Thanks for reading, and please review.**


	20. Draco's Father

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

**This is written in honor of reaching 100 followers. It is an extra chapter and occurs at the beginning of Draco's third year. Thank you for reading, and please review.**

* * *

September 2, 1993

There was a knock on the window. Lucius looked up to see a handsome tawny owl. He opened the window to let it in, and took its letter. When he saw that the envelope bore the Hogwarts crest, he frowned. He broke open the seal and unfolded the parchment.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_There has been an accident at school. Please come at once._

_M. McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress_

He stopped breathing, and his jaw clenched. He ran out of his study.

"Narcissa! I'm heading to Hogwarts. I'll be back soon," he shouted as he hurriedly grabbed his coat.

His wife's voice drifted from the drawing room. "Is something wrong?"

She appeared at the doorway and he nearly crashed into her. Her eyes scanned his face, then she gasped and covered her hands with her mouth.

He seized her by her shoulders. "It will be alright," he said hoarsely, as much to comfort himself as his wife. He drew her into his arms briefly, then pushed past her and out the front door.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall met him at the front gates.

Lucius struggled to remain calm. "Is he –"

"Your son is alive," said Minerva. She looked at him sympathetically as relief flooded his face. "Come with me. He is in the hospital wing."

As they walked, she explained that a hippogriff had attacked his son.

"How could the teacher possibly allow such a dangerous creature around a class of thirteen-year-olds?" Lucius exclaimed in frustration.

"Hippogriffs do not attack unless they are provoked, Mr. Malfoy."

"My son is not stupid enough to provoke a dangerous animal," Lucius snapped.

She looked sternly at him, and Lucius felt intense fury welling up inside of him. _Did she think that she understood his son better than he did?_ His hand clenched around his walking stick.

They entered the hospital wing.

"Here is Madam Pomfrey, our Healer," said Minerva. "I must go now; I have a class waiting for me." She left.

He nodded haughtily, but politely, at the Healer. "Good morning, Madam Pomfrey."

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy. Minerva has explained what happened?"

He nodded once again, stiffly. He did not trust himself to speak; fear was running through him once again. Was Draco permanently injured? Would he be crippled? It was very unusual for parents to be called to Hogwarts, as injuries at a school for magic were quite common. Lucius remembered from his own school days that even seriously fractured bones or vanished body parts were not deemed serious enough to warrant calling for a student's parents. After all, magic could easily heal most wounds.

Something terrible must have happened to Draco.

"As you know, injuries from magical creatures are more difficult to heal than normal injuries. Draco suffered extensive damage to his chest. We were lucky that the beast missed his heart and vital blood vessels, or he would have died before I could care for him."

Lucius let out a shaky breath.

Madam Pomfrey continued, matter-of-factly, "But the injury did affect other organs."

She rattled off a long list of body structures. Lucius was not listening. All he wanted to know was if Draco would be able to lead a normal life…

"There will be visible scarring and Draco will find any additional injury to his chest area to be extremely painful. It is best if he does not strain his body ever again. Otherwise, he will be fine."

The tension melted from his shoulders and Lucius sagged against a nearby counter. Then he had a sudden thought.

"What about Quidditch?"

The Healer hesitated, then said, gently, "I will clear him for Quidditch, but if he _ever_ gets injured again, then I will be forced to forbid him from playing. Do you have any more questions? No? Well, Draco is awake and visiting with friends at the moment. Would you like me to show you in?"

Lucius straightened, regaining his composure. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. And yes, I would like to speak with my son."

* * *

After speaking with Draco, he returned home. Only then did he allow himself to vent his anger.

Narcissa ran out to meet him. "Is he alright?"

"He will be fine, but permanently scarred," Lucius snarled. "But I cannot _believe_ that he would leap in front of an angry hippogriff! What was he _thinking_!?"

Narcissa gasped. "It didn't scar his face? He's such a handsome boy –"

"No. It ripped open his chest. Thank Merlin it didn't strike his heart."

"Why did he…. jump?"

"He said he jumped in front of Crabbe's son."

His wife raised an eyebrow. "Brave, but foolish. It doesn't sound like him. Do you think he's telling the truth?"

"It's something a _damn_ Gryffindor would do! This has Potter's stink written all over it. But Draco insists that Potter wasn't involved."

"So Draco is lying."

"Perhaps. I do not know."

There was a short silence.

Then Lucius said, with cold fury, "Hagrid was the teacher responsible for this. Dumbledore appointed that idiot this year to replace Professor Kettleburn. He will pay. The beast will pay. They will _all_ pay for harming my son!"

He stormed into his study, slamming the door behind him.

Narcissa looked worriedly after him. She knew her husband was a vengeful man, and would not be swayed in his anger. She called for a house elf to take her husband something to drink, and then retired to her own desk to write to her son.

* * *

**Thanks again to all my followers!**


	21. The Boggart

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

Draco was awakened by someone gently shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see Pansy Parkinson staring down at him.

"Good morning, Draco," she said shyly, a faint blush on her cheeks. "I came to see if you needed any help getting to breakfast."

Draco smiled. That was thoughtful of her. Pansy was one of the few witches that Draco thought was both pretty and had a personality. She was one of the most popular girls in Slytherin. Draco liked her more than the other good-looking Slytherin girl of his age, Daphne Greengrass, who was gorgeous but had absolutely no brain.

Draco slowly sat up. He could move about fine, but if he stretched a little too much, a twinge of pain would shoot through his chest. Pansy helped him get his textbooks, then they walked to breakfast together, talking quietly.

"Does it hurt much?" Pansy asked.

"Not really," Draco replied. "My chest just feels a bit tight. Did I miss out on anything interesting yesterday?"

They traded Slytherin gossip, continuing their conversation through breakfast. A few other Slytherin girls stared jealously, but Draco completely ignored them. He hadn't realized it before, but Pansy was surprisingly funny with a sarcastic sense of humor. She regaled Draco with the tale of Blaise breaking up with his girlfriend in the middle of the Slytherin common room.

"You know how hard Blaise is to please. I'd be surprised if he doesn't end up with a girl made of pure gold," she scoffed.

Draco snorted. "Maybe he'll take after his mother, go through seven girls, and melt down their Galleons to cast a golden statue," he said dryly. They stared at each other for a moment in horror, then burst into laughter.

"Daphne had better watch out then," Pansy chortled. It was well known that her family was the wealthiest in their year – besides the Malfoys, of course.

"And Astoria too, collect the entire Greengrass set," Draco gasped, clutching at his chest through his laughter.

"And Millie – "

Draco pretended to gag. Pansy smacked him lightly, then leaned in. "And you, Draco. Blaise might have his eye on your gold too," she whispered in his ear. Her voice sent shivers – in a good way – down his spine.

Draco smirked. "Not sure if Blaise has – ah, '_sufficient attributes'_ – to entice me. And what about you, Pansy?" he teased.

"Why would I go for Blaise with you around?" she laughed. Then she seemed to realize what she said, and gasped, staring wide-eyed at Draco.

Draco felt pink tinge his own cheeks, but he simply leaned back in his chair, running his hands through his hair. "So, you like me, huh?" he said, preening.

Pansy blushed furiously and looked down at her plate, but she nodded.

Breakfast was nearly over. Draco hoisted his bag onto one shoulder with a wince, and took Pansy's hand. He led her out of the Great Hall, through the crowd milling about the entrance, and down a quieter corridor. When there was no one around, he turned to her.

His heart was beating very fast.

"I like you too, Pansy," he whispered, pulling her close.

And in that quiet corridor, Draco had his first kiss.

* * *

Ten minutes later they walked into Potions holding hands. Draco felt unusually self-conscious, certain that everyone would be staring at him and Pansy.

Surprisingly, the Slytherins seemed to have expected it all along.

"About time," muttered Blaise, as Draco sat down beside him.

"Finally," he heard Tracey Davis telling Pansy.

From across the room, his Gryffindor friends had their own reactions. Ron gaped, Harry winked, and Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Potions went well for Draco, as usual. It was his favorite subject.

His next class was Defense Against the Dark Arts with the new professor. He walked with Pansy, telling her about how Professor Lupin had driven away the dementor on Hogwarts Express.

"He might actually know what he's doing," Pansy said, impressed.

And indeed, he did. Professor Lupin led them out of the classroom to the teacher's staffroom.

"Now, then," he said, beckoning the class toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept their spare robes. As Draco watched, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall. Pansy jumped, clutching at Draco's hand.

"Nothing to worry about," said Professor Lupin calmly. "There's a boggart in there."

The professor described the magical creature, then asked them to think of the thing that scared them the most, and imagine how they might force it to look comical.

Draco's first thought was Voldemort's red eyes boring into his. It had been the recurring nightmare of his first year. But before he had even started to plan a possible counterattack on a boggart-Voldemort, another series of horrible images came floating to the surface of his mind.…

Harry convulsing in the Forbidden Forest, clutching at his scar… The basilisk fang sinking its poison deep into Harry's arm… Buckbeak whirling to attack Harry… Harry's green eyes clouding over… the pang in his heart as he realized his friend was dying….

_No!_ Draco thought. His boggart could _not_ be one of Harry dying – especially not in a classroom full of Slytherins! They would embarrass him forever. At least Harry himself wasn't here. Draco looked around, panicking, but he could not get rid of the images in his mind.

"Everyone ready?" said Professor Lupin.

Draco felt a lurch of fear. He wasn't ready. How could you make the death of your best friend less frightening? He would have rather faced the Dark Lord again! But everyone else was nodding and rolling up their sleeves.

Professor Lupin called Greg forward.

"On the count of three, Greg," he said. "One – two – three – _now_!"

A jet of sparks shot from the end of Professor Lupin's wand and the wardrobe burst open. A lumbering bear of a man with a wide sneer strode forward. Draco recognized him immediately: Greg's grandfather.

Greg backed away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly. The man was bearing down upon him, raising his fist…

"_R-r-riddikulus_!" stuttered Greg.

And suddenly the man was wearing a long, fluffy pink dress; the sort of dress Greg's mother liked to wear.

Draco laughed loudly with the rest of the class. Professor Lupin shouted, "Blaise! Forward!"

Blaise stalked forward arrogantly. Vince's grandfather turned towards him.

_Crack!_ Where he had stood was a beautiful woman in a wedding dress. She stepped forward, offering her hand to Blaise, who visibly shuddered.

"_Riddikulus_!" he cried.

And suddenly the wedding dress began to peel off the woman's body. Draco snickered as Professor Lupin hurried forward, embarrassed.

"Millicent! Next!"

_Crack!_ The woman changed into a shining, well-oiled broomstick. Draco's jaw dropped. Millie hated flying?

"_Riddikulus_!" shouted Millie.

The broomstick snapped in half. Millie was the only one who laughed; the rest of the class winced.

"Pansy!" roared Professor Lupin. Draco watched curiously as Pansy walked forward, her face set.

_Crack! _The broken broomstick turned into a tall, stern-looking woman. Draco recognized her immediately as well: Pansy's mother.

Pansy's eyes blazed as she raised her wand. "_Riddikulus_!"

The woman suddenly started flapping her arms like a chicken.

"Vince!"

_Crack! _Pansy's mother became a hippogriff. It reared, flashing its talons.

"_Riddikulus_!" shouted Vince.

The hippogriff shrank to the size of a small dog. It ran around in circles, squawking loudly.

"Daphne!"

_Crack!_ The hippogriff turned into a long mirror, where Daphne's reflection was old, wrinkled, grey-haired, and hunched over. Daphne burst into tears.

"_R-r-riddikulus_!" she sobbed.

The reflection became young and beautiful again, and Daphne beamed.

"Draco!"

_Shit._

Draco walked forward.

_Crack!_ The mirror disappeared. The entire class craned their necks to see. A limp body laid crumpled on the ground. Thankfully he was facedown – but he had messy black hair that stuck up in the back like Harry's.

Draco stopped breathing. He fought the impulse to run to the body and check for a pulse. His thoughts moved sluggishly. Something comical… something comical – Harry alive and jumping and doing a tap dance!

"_Riddikulus_!" yelled Draco.

The body twisted and jerked up, and suddenly there was Harry Potter, grinning and dancing.

The Slytherins burst into jeering laughter.

Professor Lupin waved his wand and Harry danced back into the wardrobe. The door slammed shut.

"Excellent lesson!" cried Professor Lupin. "I would have let you defeat the boggart but I'm saving it for the next class as well. Homework, read the chapter on boggarts and summarize it for me to be handed in on Monday. That will be all."

Talking excitedly, the class left the staffroom.

* * *

Draco was glad that no one thought twice about his boggart. Everyone was too busy reminiscing about defeating their own.

The days passed by quickly, and soon it was Halloween. It was the first time the third years were allowed to go to Hogsmeade. Draco and Pansy went to as many places as they could. He showered her with sweets from Honeydukes. They pranked each other in Zonko's Joke Shop, sipped foaming hot butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, and kissed while huddled together outside of the Shrieking Shack (which didn't shriek.)

They had an absolutely fantastic time.

And then when they returned to the castle, there was the Halloween feast with all sorts of juicy meats and casseroles and delicious pumpkin pie. Even though Draco and Pansy were full to bursting with Honeyduke sweets, they still managed second helpings of everything.

The Slytherins had just returned to their dormitory when Professor Snape swept in.

"There has been an emergency," he said. "Prefects, please help me organize the students. We need to all be in the Great Hall. Now."

They trooped in a long line to the Great Hall, where they were joined by the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws.

Draco dragged Pansy along to find Harry, Ron and Hermione. They listened wide-eyed as the Gryffindors told them about the ripped portrait of the Fat Lady. Sirius Black had tried to get into Gryffindor Tower! Draco had hundreds of questions, but then Percy Weasley, who was Head Boy, called for them to sleep.

"Everyone into their sleeping bags! Come on, now, no more talking! Lights out in ten minutes!"

* * *

However, when no sign of Sirius Black was found, life quickly returned to normal.

The first Quidditch match of the season was Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff. On the day of the match, the weather was miserable.

Draco held on tightly to the enormous umbrella that the ferocious wind threatened to tear out of his grasp. He and Pansy ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field, heads bowed against the wind. Despite their efforts, they were soaked by the time they reached the bleachers.

He scanned the skies, barely able to see through the pelting rain.

It seemed as though the Gryffindors were ahead, but Draco couldn't really tell. It was nearly impossible to hear the commentary over the booming thunder. Occasionally, a few words drifted through, but Draco couldn't piece it together to get a clear picture of what was going on. He had no idea how Harry would be able to find the Snitch in this weather.

About forty minutes into the game, something odd happened. An eerie silence was falling across the stadium. The wind, though as strong as ever, was forgetting to roar. It was as though someone had turned off the sound, as though Draco had gone suddenly deaf – what was going on?

Draco scrambled to stand on top of his seat to get a better view.

And a horrible, cold wave of fear swept across him as he saw the mass of dementors – at least a hundred of them – standing on the Quidditch field, looking up at Harry. And then he saw the small crimson figure, falling…falling…

"NO! HARRY!" he heard himself shout.

And then he stumbled down from the bleachers, and shook off Pansy's hand…. he ran as fast as he could, desperate, to the field…

A tall figure with long grey hair rose up before him. Draco tripped and fell to the ground. He threw up his arms, shrinking back from the wizard. He had never seen Dumbledore so furious.

Dumbledore waved his wand at Harry. His fall slowed, and he drifted to the ground, landing gently like a feather. And then Dumbledore turned to the crowd of dementors and a brilliant, beautiful silver bird – a phoenix? – shot out from the end of his wand, diving at the dementors.

Immediately, the dark hooded figures scattered.

Draco felt gentle, but firm hands pulling him up, and he looked up to see Hermione and Ron. As they guided him off the field, Draco glanced back to see Dumbledore levitating Harry onto a stretcher. Then a crowd of people blocked his view and he couldn't see any more.

* * *

"Oh, hey Draco. Where's Hermione and Ron?" asked Harry. He was propped up in a hospital bed, since Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping him in the hospital wing for the rest of the weekend.

"Hermione's studying in the library. I dunno about Ron," said Draco. He placed a box of Chocolate Frogs on the table beside Harry's bed, then picked up a bright, sunshine yellow card. "Who's this from – woah!"

He nearly dropped the card as it began singing shrilly.

"Ginny made that card herself," said Harry, quickly plucking it out of Draco's hands and closing it.

Draco winked at him. "I think Weaselette has a thing for you."

Harry groaned. "Don't call her that!"

Draco chuckled as he sat down, draping his lanky body elegantly over the chair. There was a short silence. Draco noticed Harry gazing off worriedly at the opposite wall.

"Something bothering you?" he asked, casually.

"Just losing to Hufflepuff," Harry said, frowning. "And my broom got smashed."

"As if Gryffindor had a chance anyways," Draco scoffed.

"Shut up, Draco. If I recall correctly, Gryffindor has beaten Slytherin in the last two years," said Harry, grinning.

Draco smirked. "Well, hopefully dementors will interrupt our game too, when it comes."

Harry's expression fell, and Draco immediately knew that the dementors were bothering Harry a lot more than he let on.

"I was joking," he said quickly. Then he added, softly, "Lots of people go crazy in Azkaban because of dementors."

"Why? Why do they affect me like that?" Harry suddenly exploded. "No one else faints! Am I just... weak?"

Concerned, Draco leaned forward. "Harry, you've saved my life more than once. Trust me, you are not weak. You're one of the strongest people I know."

Harry was staring at the wall again, his eyes haunted.

"When they get near me – ," he whispered, "I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum."

Draco's lips tightened at the mention of Voldemort's name, but he stayed silent, letting Harry recover. He looked away, deliberately becoming very interested in the other sweets sitting by Harry's bed, as Harry wiped his eyes.

Harry finally spoke again. "Why did they have to come to the match?" he said, his voice bitter.

"You should expect it by now," Draco said, lightly. "You almost die during the first Quidditch match every year. It's like a tradition."

Harry snorted. "You've got a point," he said dryly. "Wonder if something else horrible will happen at the end of the year."

"With Sirius Black on the loose, I wouldn't doubt it," Draco said darkly.

Harry turned to look at Draco, his green eyes strangely intense.

"Look, Draco, can I tell you something? I can't tell Ron, or he'll panic. And Hermione won't take me seriously…"

Draco was puzzled. "Of course, Harry."

Harry told him about seeing a large black dog – the Grim – twice, with both appearances followed by near-fatal accidents; the first time, he had nearly been run over by the Knight Bus; the second, fallen fifty feet from his broomstick. The Grim was an omen of death, Draco knew. He suppressed a shiver.

"Will it haunt me until I actually… die?" said Harry.

Draco tried to speak bravely. "Harry, you are the Boy-Who-Lived. If the Dark Lord can't kill you, I doubt the Grim can."

Harry didn't seem convinced.

"Look," Draco said, firmly, "No matter what happens, I got your back. Alright?"

"Alright," said Harry. Then he added, quietly, "I got yours, too."

* * *

Draco looked up from his Arithmancy homework. He felt cross-eyed with all the numbers and charts floating around in his head. He groaned, then leaned back in his chair, ruffling his blonde hair.

He tilted the chair on two legs, and eyed Hermione, who was sitting across from him, absorbed in her own work. Much like the previous two years, they spent most of their extra time together in the library. His favorite part of studying with her is that whenever he needed to take a break, he could bother her.

"Why you think this number stuff is the best thing ever is beyond me," he said teasingly.

Hermione looked up and glared. "Don't deny it, Draco, you found magic squares and the Golden Ratio to be just as exciting as I did!"

Draco laughed lowly, "That's what you think. I'm just pretending to like it because _you_ love it so much."

Her eyes narrowed. "Your clumsy attempts at flirting don't work on _me_," she said haughtily.

"I bet if Cedric Diggory flirted with you, it would work. You like them strong and silent, eh?"

Hermione blushed, mortified. "Draco!"

"Or maybe Harry is more your type. Although you'd have to battle it out with Ron's little sister -"

Hermione grabbed her wand. "Don't make me hex you," she threatened, waving it at Draco. His smile only widened.

"You're too much of a good girl to hex me. But of course, good girls like bad boys, right?" He winked.

Hermione glared at him. For a moment he thought she _was _going to hex him – and however he might mock her, he actually was a _little_ bit afraid of her curses – but then she smiled sweetly.

"So, how are you and Pansy getting along?"

Draco was caught off guard. "Huh?"

"Your girlfriend. Pansy."

"What about her?"

"How is your….relationship?"

"Like normal, I guess," he shrugged.

"Only normal? Nothing _exciting_?"

Draco suddenly grinned. He leaned forward, looking deep into Hermione's eyes.

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know," he said slowly, his eyes dancing with barely-concealed laughter.

She stared back at him, wide-eyed and innocent, although her brown eyes were sparkling. He felt something light flutter in his belly.

Then the moment broke when Hermione sniffed. "I don't think you two will last past Christmas," she said, her tone suddenly frosty. "You're going to be a playboy if you don't watch it, Draco."

Draco's jaw dropped. This was not heading where he expected.

She jabbed her wand at him. "Don't think I haven't noticed. Always running your fingers through your hair when you think girls are looking. And you flirt with anything that moves. Be careful. Pansy is the jealous type."

"Pansy can't do anything to _me_," he said, his voice dropping. His voice cracked a bit as he spoke, and he frowned. His changing voice annoyed him – he wished it would settle down already.

"Arrogant and cocky as always," Hermione huffed. "You'll pay for it someday." She returned to her books.

Draco looked back down at his Arithmancy homework. He wondered what Pansy would say if she realized that he spent so much time with Hermione. He usually got rid of her by saying that he was going to the library to study – which wasn't a lie, but she didn't know that he never studied alone.

Well, hopefully she just won't find out.

* * *

****Thanks for reading, and please review!****


	22. Damage Control

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

Defense Against the Dark Arts became Draco's second favorite class (after Potions of course.) Professor Lupin was more competent than Quirrell and Lockhart put together. He also managed to make every lesson interesting.

They were studying hinkypunks, little one-legged creatures who looked frail and harmless, but often lured people into bogs from which there was no escape. Professor Lupin brought one to class, and the hinkypunk kept making horrible squelching noises that Draco found extremely amusing.

When the bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door, Draco among them, but –

"Wait a moment, Draco," Lupin called. "I'd like a word."

Draco doubled back and watched Professor Lupin covering the hinkypunk's box with a cloth.

"Hagrid told me about how you leapt in front of a hippogriff," said Professor Lupin.

Draco flushed bright red. "I didn't… It was… Vince is an idiot, sir," he mumbled.

"Hagrid said that you didn't move until Harry was in danger," said Professor Lupin, gently.

Draco's eyes blazed. "What are you saying? I'm no Gryffindor, eager to perform pointless heroics! Harry was being a fool, running towards an angry hippogriff –"

"Yet you threw yourself in front of him. And from your boggart, it seems that you fear your friend's death more than your own."

Draco fell silent.

There was a brief pause, during which Lupin looked at Draco measuringly.

"You know that Sirius Black is after Harry?"

Draco nodded stiffly.

"Harry has been restless, probably because he's the only third year not allowed to go to Hogsmeade. Please, do your best to keep him out of trouble, will you?"

Draco's lip curled. "I'm not a watchdog, sir," he said, struggling to remain polite.

"Either way, Harry takes after his father in that he gets into scrapes far too often for his own good. It seems that Harry has a lot of respect for you as well… rather unusual for a Slytherin and Gryffindor, but I digress. Perhaps if he had someone who he trusted telling him to think before he leaps… "

Draco's sneer faded as he finally realized that Professor Lupin was merely being protective.

"I understand, sir," he said. Then he asked, shrewdly, "Did you know Harry's father, sir?"

"I – I did, as a matter of fact," said Lupin, surprised. "We were friends."

"And did you keep him out of trouble?"

"Unfortunately, I couldn't," the professor said softly.

_Right. James Potter is dead. _Draco suddenly felt a horrible sense of foreboding. He thought of the large black dog that Harry had already seen twice; the Grim, an omen of death. His chest tightened.

"D-do you know anything about the Grim, sir?" he blurted out.

Professor Lupin blinked at him slowly. "The…Grim?"

"Yes, Harry says he's seen a large black dog… Hermione thinks it's superstition, but it's an omen of death, sir. I was wondering if you knew anything about it… "

Draco wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but Professor Lupin seemed to become even greyer than usual.

"I believe the Grim is largely a myth, Draco, but I will do some research and let you know if I find anything."

Draco smiled gratefully. "Thank you, professor. I better get to lunch."

"Yes, you should," replied Lupin, who seemed to be gazing distantly at the opposite wall.

* * *

It was the week before Christmas. Draco was sitting with Hermione in the library, quietly doing schoolwork. Professor Lupin had been ill, so Professor Snape had substituted in and assigned them an essay on werewolves.

Draco was diligently listing the five signs that identify a werewolf when Hermione spoke in an odd tone.

"Did you hear what Professor Lupin's boggart is?"

"What is it?"

"A round orb. Draco, I think his boggart is a moon."

The implications slammed into Draco, and he looked up into Hermione's wide eyes.

"So you think Professor Lupin is a…" his voice trailed off.

"It all fits! He's been getting sick every month. And Harry told me that Professor Snape has been making a potion for Professor Lupin. I bet it's the Wolfsbane Potion."

"That's a terrible accusation," Draco said, in a low voice. "People don't like _his kind_ very much. If word got out, he could get fired."

"You won't tell anyone will you?"

"Of course not. But don't you think he might be a danger to students?"

Before Hermione could respond, Pansy came around the corner.

"Draco?"

When she saw Hermione, her gaze hardened. "What are you doing with _her_?" she spat.

Draco looked up. He tried to play it cool. "Doing Professor Snape's essay. Want to join us?"

That was the wrong thing to say. Pansy drew back with a disgusted expression on her face, while Hermione jumped up, gathering her books and study material.

"You know what, I'm going to work on this in my dorm. See you later, Draco," said Hermione, her words blending together as they tumbled from her mouth. She sped off.

"What's gotten into her?" asked Draco incredulously.

"I think a better question would be what's gotten into _you_," said Pansy.

"What? Hermione and I always study together."

"That was _before_ you got a girlfriend, Draco."

Draco stood up, enraged. "Are you trying to tell me who I can be friends with, Pansy?"

"Friends!? So you and Hermione are _just friends_ huh?"

"Yes!"

"You spend more time with her than you do with me," Pansy pouted.

"Hermione and I have more classes together," Draco said impatiently.

"And why don't you ever do homework with me? You would rather spend time with that insufferable know-it-all – "

Draco cut her off sharply. "Don't you _dare_ call her that –"

"And now you're defending her –"

Madam Pince, the librarian, chased them out for being too loud. They continued arguing all the way back to the Slytherin Dungeon. They stood in the common room, still fighting. Their fellow Slytherins lounged on the couches or walked past them quietly, acting as if nothing was going on. However, they were all listening carefully.

Draco was the scion of two old, wealthy, pureblood magical families. His father was one of the wealthiest, most politically powerful wizards; his mother headed many influential witches' organizations. Draco himself was a model student: popular, Seeker of the Quidditch team, and academically gifted. Was there a chink in the perfect armor?

In addition, the other Slytherins had noticed Draco's odd friendship with three certain Gryffindors, but most assumed that it was some sort of calculated networking strategy, especially since Harry Potter was involved. But was there something more going on? Does Draco Malfoy secretly fancy a Mudblood_?_

If he did, his family's social status would plummet. And some were eager for the mighty to be taken low. The Malfoys had lorded their superiority over too many people for too long.

Finally, Draco had enough.

"You know what, Pansy? Maybe we should just call it quits."

Pansy looked panicked. "Wait, what?"

"Obviously you can't deal with me being friends with other girls, and I'm not about to stop talking to _half the people in this school_ just because of you."

"I can't believe you would choose that Mudblood over me!" Pansy yelled, her eyes flashing viciously.

Dead silence filled the common room. Their fellow Slytherins watched them with veiled expressions.

Draco froze. This was getting out of hand, he realized. He quickly thought of everything he had said thus far – luckily, none of it was incriminating. But he needed to respond to Pansy's accusation.

_Damage control_, his father's voice echoed in his head.

"You know I would never choose a _Mudblood_ over anything," Draco said carefully, his tone cold and haughty. His mouth felt full of cotton, though his words came out crisp and clear. "Any Muggleborn means less than nothing to me."

"Well you sure don't act like it," said Pansy. "You are a pureblood. You are _Draco Malfoy_. Start living up to your name, or face the consequences!"

He stepped up to her, lowering his head. "Would you like me to prove it to you?" he said, huskily.

And before she could respond, he was attacking her mouth with a passionate kiss. Surprised, Pansy moaned under him; he had never been this rough before.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, and the surrounding Slytherins all wore satisfied smirks. A few wolf-whistled. Of course Draco Malfoy would never fall for a Muggleborn. This had just been a particularly heated lover's spat, nothing more.

Pansy had a dazed, but happy expression on her face. Draco turned away, resisting the urge to wipe his mouth. He stormed up to the boy's bathroom, found a stall, bent over a toilet, and threw up.

_Hermione was right_, he thought, bitterly. _Pansy was dangerous_. But he should've expected no less from her – it was part of what had drew him to her in the first place. He groaned inwardly. Why couldn't he have picked someone less malicious – like Daphne?

Then cold anger filled him. Who did Pansy think she was, manipulating him like that? He was a Malfoy; he would teach her a lesson.

He considered breaking her heart – making her fall for him, then tossing her aside like a broken doll. But what would be the use in that? Draco was practical, and a broken girl would be a wasted effort.

No, he wanted to make her indebted to him. She may come in useful someday. He wanted to make her want him, but also fear him, so that she would never, ever dare to displease him again.

* * *

It was easier than he thought it would be. He simply wrote to her mother. They exchanged a few letters.

Soon, he understood why Pansy's mother was her boggart. She was a harsh, demanding, unforgiving woman. Nothing Pansy ever did was good enough. Draco knew exactly how that felt, and with a pang, he realized that he cared for Pansy after all.

But he didn't care for her quite enough to forgive her.

A few days before the last weekend of the term, Pansy dragged him to a quiet hall. She turned to him, and handed him a letter, her hands trembling, and unable to speak.

He unfolded the letter.

_Pansy,_

_I received word that you created a scene at school. _

_I should not have to remind you that your father is indebted to Lucius Malfoy for his support with certain legislative matters, nor that Narcissa Malfoy is a close family friend and sits on the Witches' Circle. I am astounded that you have accused their son of fraternizing with filthy Muggleborns._

_In addition, you have embarrassed yourself in front of your classmates. Such unladylike behavior is intolerable. You should be honored that a fine, young man such as Draco is willing to court you. Do not allow me to hear of another disappointment, or it will be your last._

The letter was not signed.

"Who wrote this?" asked Draco, though it was obvious.

Pansy's lip trembled. "M-my mother," she whispered.

Draco stepped forward to embrace her. She was shaking, yet she didn't cry. Draco found himself admiring her again for her strength.

"I – I'm so sorry for saying those things to you," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"It's alright, sweetheart," he murmured. He held her tight until she stopped shaking. Then he gently led her to a nearby alcove. He helped hoist her onto the waist-high ledge, then stood before her, holding her hands.

He took a deep breath.

"Pansy, I know this might upset you," he said carefully, "but maybe we _should_ break up."

Pansy gasped, and this time tears began spilling from her eyes. She jerked her hands away from his, and covered her mouth in horror. Now that she was crying, Draco suddenly felt much more awkward.

But he had to continue.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, and looked her firmly in the eye. "It's not your fault. I'm just not... ready, for a relationship… you'll be jealous. You deserve better."

"I didn't mean what I said about the Mudblood. I didn't mean what I said about other girls – " Pansy said, desperately, but Draco hushed her with a hard look.

"We both know you meant it," he said harshly. Pansy's face fell. Her eyes deadened as he destroyed any hope that he might forgive her. Draco could almost see the regret forming in her heart. An odd feeling bubbled up inside of him. He was incredibly pleased that his plan was working to perfection, but terribly disgusted that he was hurting her.

Well, that couldn't be helped. He stepped away, then hammered in the final nail.

"We shouldn't sit together anymore. See you at dinner."

His footsteps echoed coldly down the hall as he walked away.

* * *

When he told Hermione that he had broken up with Pansy, Hermione smirked.

"Told you so," she said.

A trip to Hogsmeade was scheduled for the day before Christmas break. This time he went with Hermione and Ron. They first went to Honeydukes, where they went to pick out sweets to bring back for Harry, who was stuck at Hogwarts.

Ron bent to examine a tray of blood-flavored lollipops.

Hermione made a face. "Ugh, no, Harry won't want one of those, they're for vampires, I expect," she said.

Draco picked up a jar of Cockroach Clusters and shoved them under Hermione's nose. "How about these?" He laughed as she jerked away.

"Definitely not." Harry's voice came from over his shoulder.

Draco nearly dropped the jar.

Harry told them about how Fred and George Weasley had given him a miraculous map – the Marauder's Map – that showed a hidden tunnel between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade.

"You're going to hand it in to Professor McGonagall, aren't you, Harry?" Hermione hissed.

"Are you mad?" said Ron, goggling at Hermione. "Hand in something that good?"

Harry looked to Draco for the final vote. As Draco stared into Harry's green eyes, he remembered his conversation with Professor Lupin. But what could possibly be the harm in sneaking out to Hogsmeade? The town was under nearly as much protection as Hogwarts.

He nodded, nearly imperceptibly. Harry's face broke into a wide grin.

Hermione bit her lip, looking extremely worried.

"Are you going to report me?" Harry asked her.

"Oh – of course not – but honestly, Harry – "

"Seen the Fizzing Whizbees, Harry?" said Ron, grabbing him and leading him away. "And the Jelly Slugs? And the Acid Pops?..."

As Ron dragged Harry around the store, Hermione turned to Draco. "How could you!" she cried. "What about Sirius Black! He could be using this hidden passage to get into the castle! The teachers have got to know!"

Draco grimaced. "Relax, Hermione," he said. He pointed at a notice pasted on the inside of the sweetshop door. "See?" he said quietly. "I'd like to see Black try and break into Honeydukes with dementors swarming all over the village."

Before she could reply, he grabbed her hand and pulled her after Harry and Ron.

After they had paid for all their sweets, the four of them went to the Three Broomsticks. The wind was fierce, and they were half-frozen by the time they entered the tiny inn. It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. A curvy sort of woman with a pretty face was serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks up at the bar.

"That's Madam Rosmerta," said Ron. "I'll get the drinks, shall I?" he added, going slightly red.

Harry, Hermione, and Draco made their way to the back of the room. Ron came back five minutes later, carrying four foaming tankards of hot butterbeer.

"Merry Christmas!" he said happily, raising his tankard.

A sudden breeze ruffled Draco's hair. He heard Harry choke beside him, and he looked up.

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid and Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.

Draco and Ron instantly grabbed Harry and shoved him under the table. Hermione grasped Harry's tankard of butterbeer, somehow managing to prevent it from spilling, and quietly snuck it under the table as well.

Then Hermione drew her wand.

"_Mobiliarbus_!" she whispered. The Christmas tree beside their table shifted a few inches, landing right in front of their table, hiding them from view. _Bloody brilliant witch_, thought Draco, not for the first time.

They listened to the group of older witches and wizards talk about Sirius Black.

Draco stared at the table in front of him, his butterbeer forgotten. The tale of betrayal was… beyond description. But oddly, he didn't feel rage or hate for the infamous criminal who had led to his best friend's parents' deaths. He simply felt numb.

If he were to name the one person he trusted above all others, he would immediately name Harry Potter. How would he feel if Harry had betrayed him? Cold. Empty. It was simply unthinkable.

And then he mentally flipped the situation. What if Harry had chosen him to be Secret-Keeper? Unconsciously, he reached up to rub the scar on his chest through his shirt. He'd _die_ before he betrayed Harry. But what if the Dark Lord tortured him?

He recalled the horrible piercing sensation of – Hermione had called it "Legilimency" – when he stood before Quirrell/Voldemort, and he remembered how quickly he had given in. And if his own father had succumbed to the Imperius, what hope did he have?

He buried his face in his hands, trying to get rid of the dark thoughts. The Dark Lord will never rise again, he told himself firmly. There is nothing to worry about.

* * *

The next day was the first day of the holidays. Almost all other students returned home. Draco had chosen to stay at Hogwarts, mostly to keep Harry company, but also because he hadn't had the best experience when he went home during his first year.

Since there was no one else in Gryffindor Tower remaining for the holidays, Ron let Draco in. He lounged on a red couch, feeling very out of place, even though no outside observer would've guessed it from his relaxed posture. Ron invited him to a game of wizard's chess, while Hermione, predictably, did homework.

Harry didn't come downstairs until it was nearly lunch. He looked terrible, as if he hadn't slept all night.

"You really don't look well, you know," Hermione said, peering anxiously into Harry's face.

"I'm fine," said Harry.

Draco snorted. He frowned when Harry didn't even bother raising his head to glare at him.

"Harry, listen," said Hermione, exchanging a look with Draco, "you must be really upset about what we heard yesterday. But the thing is, you mustn't go doing anything stupid."

"Like what?" said Harry, his voice dull and slow.

"Like trying to go after Black," said Ron sharply as his knight smashed Draco's pawn.

"You won't, will you, Harry?" said Hermione.

"Because Black's not worth dying for," said Ron.

Harry looked up at them with the same dazed, haunted expression Draco had seen when Harry had been in the hospital wing after the first Quidditch match.

"Every time a dementor gets too near me, I can hear my mum screaming and pleading with Voldemort," Harry said, hoarsely. Draco and Ron flinched at the mention of Voldemort's name. "And if you'd heard your mum screaming like that, you wouldn't forget it in a hurry. And if you found out someone who was supposed to be a friend of hers betrayed her –"

"There's nothing you can do!" said Hermione, looking stricken. "Harry, _please_, be sensible. Black did a terrible, terrible thing, but d-don't put yourself in danger, it's what Black wants… Oh, Harry, you'd be playing right into Black's hands if you went looking for him. Your mum and dad wouldn't want you to get hurt, would they? They'd never want you to go looking for Black!"

"I'll never know what they'd have wanted, because thanks to Black, I've never spoken to them," said Harry shortly.

Draco suddenly spoke up. "If I were you, I'd want revenge." He gestured lazily at the board, and his bishop moved, threatening Ron's queen.

Hermione and Ron looked at him, wide-eyed. Harry blinked slowly, his green eyes coming to life as he stared at Draco.

"But revenge," Draco said softly, "is the denial of something your enemy wants most. And what does Sirius Black want most?"

"He'd love to see Harry blown into about a million pieces, like Pettigrew," said Ron, angrily. He commanded his queen to move out of danger… but it was trapped.

"If you want revenge," said Draco, his eyes boring into Harry's. "Stay alive. It's the only way you'll get to see him suffer." His rook swooped across the board, clubbed Ron's queen on the head, and dragged her off the board.

There was a silence in which Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, stretched luxuriously, flexing his claws.

"Look," said Hermione, obviously casting around for a change of subject, "it's the holidays! It's nearly Christmas! Let's – let's go down and see Hagrid. We haven't visited him for ages!"

* * *

But visiting Hagrid did little to cheer them up.

Although the board of school governors had decided that Hagrid bore no responsibility for the hippogriff attack, they had ruled that Buckbeak was to be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures for a hearing.

Hagrid sobbed uncontrollably, his face glazed with tears that dripped down into his tangled beard. Draco, uncomfortable around crying as usual, could barely hide his disgust. Honestly, he didn't care about Hagrid's feelings, especially since Care of Magical Creatures had become a joke of a class. After the first, exciting day, they had spent all their time studying flobberworms.

Flobberworms! Draco could not think of a duller creature. He had considered dropping the class, but Hermione had convinced him to stick with it.

However, as he watched Buckbeak lying on the floor in Hagrid's hut, chomping on something that was oozing blood, he couldn't help but feel sad for the beautiful, proud hippogriff. Even if Hagrid was, in Draco's opinion, a worthless teacher, he could see something of himself in the hippogriff. If Vince had dared to insult him, he would have lashed out just as strongly.

"I'd be willing to make a statement in defense of Buckbeak," said Draco, quietly.

"That'd be great!" Hermione gushed. "You were the one who got hurt the worst, after all –"

Overwhelmed by gratitude, Hagrid howled still more loudly. Draco winced.

At last, after many more assurances of help, Hagrid blew his nose on a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth and said, "Yer right. I can' afford to go ter pieces. Gotta pull meself together …"

After lunch, the four students went to the library and returned to the empty Gryffindor common room laden with books that might help prepare a defense for Buckbeak. Draco buried himself in famous cases of marauding beasts.

He was determined to do his best in defending the hippogriff. Buckbeak didn't deserve to die.

* * *

**I didn't mention it because it interrupted the flow of the story, but despite losing his queen, Ron still beat Draco at wizard's chess. Just thought you guys would like to know!**

**Thanks for reading, and please review. **


	23. The Firebolt

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

On Christmas morning, Draco woke up to a small heap of parcels at the foot of his bed. He grinned, and gathering them in his arms, he sped up, out of the Slytherin Dungeon, and toward Gryffindor Tower.

He banged on the portrait, and Sir Cadogan (whose picture had replaced the Fat Lady) yelled at him.

"Oy! Password, you scurvy cur!"

Draco ignored him. From the inside, Ron pushed open the portrait, and Draco stumbled inside. Ron looked flush with excitement, the color in his face matching his hair.

"Merry Christmas!" he said, cheerfully, dragging Draco upstairs to the third year boys' dormitory.

Draco had never been here before. He looked around curiously. The circular room was arranged exactly the same as the Slytherin dormitories, but the colors were red and gold instead of green and silver. There was also a different feel to the room – it was brighter and cozier than his own, as if centuries of warm laughter had permeated the walls – the opposite of the dense, quiet gloom that filled the Slytherin dormitories.

The room invited him to be comfortable and to relax, but letting down his guard did not come naturally for Draco. Instead, the warmth of the room placed him on edge. He felt vaguely uneasy.

Ron had already started ripping the paper off his own presents. Draco dumped his armful of packages next to Ron's bed, and started opening them as well.

His mother had sent him crystallized pineapple sweets; his father had sent a pair of elegant monogrammed silver cufflinks that were charmed to be self-attachable and never go missing. Beside him, Ron was muttering to himself.

"Another sweater from Mum…maroon _again…_" Ron glanced over at Harry's pile. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at a long, thin package by Harry's bed.

Harry ripped the parcel open. All three boys gasped as a magnificent, gleaming broomstick rolled out. It was a Firebolt. Draco's eyes were open so wide that he felt as if they would pop out of his head. He gazed at the broomstick in awe, soaking in the sight; the glittering handle, the golden registration number, the perfectly smooth, streamlined birch twigs that made up the tail.

Ron dropped the pair of socks he was holding and ran to Harry for a closer look, Draco right behind him.

"I don't believe it," Ron said hoarsely. "Who sent it to you?"

Draco ripped apart the Firebolt's wrappings. "No card, no label, nothing!" he declared.

Hermione walked in, wearing her dressing gown and carrying Crookshanks.

"Merry Christmas! Thanks for the Self-Inking Quill, Draco – oh, _Harry_! Who sent you _that_?" she gasped.

"No idea," said Harry. "There wasn't a card or anything with it."

Hermione's face fell and she bit her lip. Draco's excitement faded as he realized what she was thinking.

"Who'd send Harry something as expensive as that, and not even tell him they'd sent it?" she said.

"Who cares?" said Ron impatiently.

"Sirius Black," said Draco in a low voice. He and Hermione exchanged a look.

"That's ridiculous," Ron exploded. "Black couldn't have bought a _Firebolt_! He's on the run! The whole country's on lookout for him! How could he just… walk into Quality Quidditch Supplies and buy a broomstick?"

"If you have the money, you can do anything," said Draco.

"Oh, so Black just waltzed into Gringotts and withdrew a few thousand galleons, huh?" said Ron.

Draco made a sound of disgust. "There are other ways of withdrawing money. Do you really think that my mother carries her own weight in gold every time she goes shopping?" He barely restrained from rolling his eyes, reminding himself that Ron probably never needed – or had – thousands of galleons to spend.

Just then, Crookshanks jumped out of Hermione's arms, right at Ron's chest.

"GET – HIM – OUT – OF – HERE!" Ron bellowed, as Crookshank's claws ripped his pajamas and his pet rat, Scabbers, attempted a wild escape over his shoulder. Ron seized Scabbers by the tail and aimed a kick at Crookshanks.

The Christmas spirit seemed to disappear, as Hermione and Ron refused to talk to each other. Hermione was furious with Ron for trying to kick her cat; Ron was still fuming about Crookshank's fresh attempt to eat Scabbers. Harry tried to make conversation with them, but soon gave up, instead wandering down to the common area and devoting himself to examining the Firebolt. Draco sat beside him.

"D'you really think this might be cursed?" Harry asked him.

Draco gently touched the polished handle. It hummed softly under his hand.

"It's very hard to curse a broomstick – to prevent cheating during Quidditch matches, y'know. And this doesn't _feel_ cursed –," Draco said carefully. Relief showed in Harry's eyes, but Draco quickly continued, "– but there _are_ ways to hide Dark magic. Look, I just can't think of anyone besides Black who might've sent this. Can you?"

Harry shook his head. Then he asked, "Sirius Black is a criminal – how does he have money?"

Draco's lips thinned. "He could _easily_ afford this. See, he's the only man who bears the Black name," he said. "And so he inherited the entire Black fortune. My mother told me everything about it since I'm the next male with blood from the House of Black… "

He was about to continue listing the rules to inheritance – they had been drilled into him since his youth – but he noticed Harry's eyes glazing over and quickly stopped speaking.

After a few more minutes of admiring the broomstick, Harry had another question.

"How could've he bought it when he's on the run?"

"It's easy. You can owl an order with your Gringotts account number," said Draco.

Harry thought for a second. "Can't we track the account number?"

"No. Gringotts promises security and privacy. It would be completely anonymous."

Harry slumped.

"What do you think I should do?" he groaned.

Draco chuckled darkly. "If it were me, I'd get someone else to ride it first. To test it."

Harry looked at him, horrified. "What if they get hurt?" he said.

Draco shrugged. "It's that, or to hand it over to the teachers," he said.

Harry clutched at the broomstick. He looked absolutely torn. Draco threw his arm around his friend's shoulder.

"Look, mate, cheer up. You're holding a_ Firebolt_. I'm bloody jealous."

"You won't tell the teachers, will you?" said Harry.

"Course not. Your neck is at stake, not mine."

* * *

But after lunch, Harry came storming to him.

"Hermione went running to McGonagall!" he yelled. The professor had confiscated the Firebolt.

And so both Ron and Harry refused to speak to Hermione. Draco was the only one who spent time with her in the library, still researching to help Buckbeak's case.

School soon started again. Slytherin played Ravenclaw a week after the start of the term. Slytherin won, though narrowly. They were behind the entire game, but Draco beat out Cho Chang for the Snitch.

The victory brought Slytherin to first place in the standings. The entire House celebrated in the Slytherin dungeon with butterbeer, pumpkin fizz, and firewhiskey. The Slytherin Quidditch team sang spirited House songs, carrying Draco on their shoulders. Even Marcus Flint, the team Captain, who was usually quite uptight, got roaring drunk. Draco was at the center of attention, which he thoroughly enjoyed.

Then, as schoolwork piled up, Draco became extremely busy. He barely had time to himself, much less take notice of other people.

However, he was growing suspicious of Hermione's odd behavior, as was Ron.

A few weeks later, the three boys were loitering in the entrance hall before lunch, waiting for Hermione. Harry was scribbling on a parchment, putting finishing touches on an essay on Undetectable Poisons. Draco peered over his shoulder, making suggestions.

"How's she doing it?" Ron muttered.

"Doing what?" said Harry, distractedly.

"Getting to all her classes!" Ron said. "Ernie MacMillan told me she's never missed a Muggle Studies class, but half of them are at the same time as Divination, and she's never missed one of them!"

Draco had been wondering the same thing. "She never misses Arithmancy either, and that's also at the same time as Divination," he said thoughtfully.

Harry shrugged. "She's got something worked out with McGonagall, remember?"

"There just aren't enough hours in a day!" Ron said, frustrated.

Something about Ron's statement struck Draco. He was right – how _was_ Hermione managing all her courses? As he ate lunch, he turned the idea over and over in his mind. His curiosity wouldn't let it go.

Later that day, Draco headed to the library as usual. He browsed a bookshelf for a few minutes, then plucked a thin volume from the shelf.

As he approached Hermione, he suddenly realized how large her workload really was. She had several tables spread with books, Arithmancy charts, rune dictionaries, diagrams of Muggles lifting heavy objects, and file upon file of extensive notes.

Only about a quarter of one table was left empty – Draco's usual spot.

"So tell me how you're doing it," he said as he sat down.

"Hm?" said Hermione, not even looking up.

"How are you are able to be in two – sometimes three – places at once? Spit out your secret, Hermione."

Hermione's head jerked up. "That's impossible. No one can be in multiple places at once," she snapped.

Draco casually held up the book he was holding. Hermione's eyes widened.

It was titled _Time Travel: Theories, Paradoxes, and Possibilities_.

"Harry's head is too stuck in his own problems," said Draco, his voice quiet but firm, "and Ron might not even think about cracking open a book. But I _will_ figure out what's going on, Hermione. You would save me a lot of trouble if you just told me now."

Hermione's jaw tightened. "No," she said.

They stared at each other for a minute, neither willing to look away. Then Draco slowly stood up.

"I thought we were friends," he said coldly. He hefted his bag onto his shoulder and turned away.

Then something heavy hit his shoulder and he grunted in pain. He looked down to see Hermione's copy of _Numerology and Grammatica_. She had thrown the book at him.

He picked it up and spun around, ready to retaliate, but Hermione was already in his face, seething. She drew herself to her full height; her eyes were narrowed, and her hair seemed to crackle with electricity.

"Harry won't talk to me because I was worried about his Firebolt, and Ron won't talk to me because of his stupid rat, and now _you_, just because I _can't_ tell you something, you get your panties all in a twist! Well let me tell you something, Draco. I have _always _been your friend. You're the one who's acting like a pretentious little prick just because something isn't going your way!"

By the end of her rant, she was panting. Draco was both shocked by her outburst and impressed by her lung capacity.

"Be quiet over there!" screeched Madam Pince, running around the corner, brandishing a feather duster at them.

"Yes ma'am," they said automatically. Hermione snatched her textbook out of Draco's hand. She sat down again. Her lips were pressed together tightly in a thin line as she continued with her schoolwork, studiously ignoring him.

His promise to her ran through his head. _I, Draco Malfoy, solemnly swear that I am, and will forever be, a true and loyal friend of Hermione Granger, even if she is being a know-it-all little witch –_

She was right. He was being a fool. But Draco was far too proud to apologize. He stormed off, finding an unoccupied table.

Determined to find out her secret, he opened the book and began to read.

* * *

One week later, he had read everything he could find on time travel, the Novikov Self-Consistency Principle and its exceptions, cases of un-births, and the current laws that the Ministry of Magic had set regarding time travel.

Time travel was exceedingly complicated. There was no spell for it – a magical object was required. But he couldn't get beyond that, as to what exactly the object may be. He thought that perhaps there may be a book on it in the Restricted Section, but he had no way of getting in there.

Draco was still thinking about this as he walked to breakfast.

When he saw Harry surrounded by a crowd of people, he turned towards the Gryffindor table. He squeezed through the crowd, grinning broadly. Harry gave him a thumbs-up. The Firebolt hovered in the air next to him, looking as polished and magnificent as ever.

"Looks like you're ready for the game, eh?" said Draco, running his eyes over the beautiful broomstick.

"Yeah, reckon so," said Harry. His green eyes were glittering in anticipation. Gryffindor was playing Ravenclaw later that afternoon. If Gryffindor won, then they had a chance of overtaking Slytherin's first place spot for the Quidditch Cup.

"Hope you fall off your broom again," said Draco, patting Harry on the back.

"I'm sure I'll manage to," said Harry dryly.

"Shame your Firebolt doesn't come with a parachute – in case you get too near a dementor."

"Pity you can't attach an extra arm to your broom, Draco," said Harry. "Then it could catch the Snitch for you."

Draco threw his head back, laughing loudly. He was pleased – Harry had been moping around so much that it was refreshing to hear him joke again. He noticed one of the Gryffindor Chasers watching him, and he smiled broadly at her. She smiled back. He winked.

Harry smacked his arm and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "Go flirt with your own Chasers," he said.

"Can't. They're all men," Draco grinned, still eyeing the girl.

A few hours later, Draco was sitting in the bleachers with his binoculars. The Gryffindors were winning by a large margin. When Harry lost sight of the Snitch because Cho Chang blocked him, Draco smirked. Harry was such a gentleman.

Then he saw Cho scream, pointing at the ground. Draco removed his binoculars to look down.

There were three tall, black hooded figures. But they didn't look quite like dementors – Draco didn't feel an overwhelming sense of fear – also the one on the right looked a bit chubby…

Then there was a roar from the crowd as Harry pelted towards the Snitch. While he flew, he pulled out his wand and cast a spell behind him.

Draco watched in amazement as a beautiful, shining silver animal – something with antlers – bounded out of the tip of Harry's wand and charged towards the three hooded figures. _When had Harry learned that?_

The three figures started running in confusion. Draco laughed as one of them tripped.

He stopped laughing when one of the hooded figures tore off his cloak, and was revealed to be Marcus Flint. The other two were also members of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

_Idiots_, he thought in disgust. Dementors themselves weren't scary – it was the way they made you _feel_ that was terrifying.

He shivered at the thought, and then stood up to boo with the other Slytherins when McGonagall took away fifty points from their House.

* * *

There was a visit to Hogsmeade scheduled for the next weekend. Draco was still not on speaking terms with Hermione; instead, he had taken up talking with the Gryffindor Chaser, Katie Bell, and asked her to go to Hogsmeade with him.

They first visited Spintwitches Quidditch Supplies since they both needed to pick up some broomcare items. Then they went to the Three Broomsticks where he bought her a drink. Katie was talkative and bubbly; their conversation flowed smoothly with lots of light-hearted flirting. She was highly curious about living in a mansion, asking him lots of silly questions ("How many bathrooms do you have? Do you use them all?").

He replied with equally silly answers that had both of them doubling over with laughter ("We have seven bathrooms. I use a different one for each day of the week!")

They were heading to Honeydukes when Ron came tearing down the street.

"Draco! Harry – got caught… threw mud at Flint – cloak slipped – floating head… Snape – come on!" Ron panted. He grabbed Draco's arm, pulling his hand out of Katie's. As Ron dragged him away, Draco shot an apologetic look at Katie, who looked completely bewildered.

"Sorry, thanks for the date, I'll talk to you later!"

The two boys ran off towards Hogwarts. They burst into Professor Snape's office, both completely out of breath. Professor Lupin, Professor Snape, and Harry all looked up in surprise. They had been looking down at Harry's Marauder's Map, which was unrolled on Snape's desk.

"I – gave – Harry – that – stuff," Ron choked, clutching at the stitch in his chest. "Bought – it … in Zonko's… ages – ago…"

Panting, Draco looked up to see Snape's dark eyes on him. The Potion Master's face was expressionless, but Draco thought he saw a hint of displeasure.

Professor Lupin clapped his hand together and looked around with fake cheerfulness. "Well! That seems to clear that up! Severus, I'll take this back, shall I?" He folded the map and tucked it inside his robes. "Harry, Ron, Draco, come with me, I need a word about my vampire essay – excuse us, Severus – "

Professor Snape spoke up. "May I speak to Malfoy? I will send him to your office after we're done, Remus."

Professor Lupin nodded, then guided Harry and Ron out the door. His friends looked at him wide-eyed, then the door closed behind them.

"Sit," said Snape.

Draco sat. Snape, however, remained standing.

"Do you recall my warning to stay away from those troublesome Gryffindors last year?"

Draco nodded stiffly.

"Then why did you come running to my office just now?"

Draco stared at the interesting jars on the shelves behind Snape's head. He couldn't bring himself to meet his teacher's gaze. "I am still friends with them, sir."

Snape stayed silent. Draco fidgeted. A long minute passed. Finally, Snape spoke. His voice was harsh.

"Why do you persist in maintaining these dangerous, foolish friendships?"

Draco winced. "I don't see the danger –"

Snape's lip curled. "Stop hiding the truth from yourself, Draco."

There was another long pause. Then Draco finally looked directly at Snape. His pale grey eyes were clear and cold, like ice, as he spoke.

"My father wasn't really under the Imperius, was he?"

Snape jerked his head noncommittally. That was good enough for Draco. His jaw clenched.

"I am not my father," he said, "I don't have to make the choices he made."

Snape's eyes were boring into Draco's. It was like trying to stare down a hippogriff.

"So that's your answer? These friendships are an act of childish defiance?"

Draco stared steadily back at Snape. "I owe them my life, sir. And isn't it wiser to pick friends based on ability rather than blood? I would rather have Potter watching my back than Crabbe or Goyle."

"You remind me of your aunt," the professor said softly.

"Which?"

"Andromeda."

Draco jumped up in fury. "No! She's a blood traitor! She married – "

"Would you rather take after Bellatrix?" Snape said nastily. Draco had never met his mother's oldest sister, but he knew that she was in Azkaban.

"No," he said quietly. Snape sneered.

"There are people watching you, Draco. They wonder; why is a Malfoy associating with a blood traitor, a Muggleborn, and the boy who brought about the downfall of the Dark Lord? You are _lucky_ that few realize the truth. You are _lucky_ that you have your family's wealth and reputation to protect you. But be very careful, Draco. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly. Thank you for the advice, sir," Draco said coldly. Snape's mouth curled into a thin smile.

"You may go to Professor Lupin's office now."

Draco walked numbly out of Snape's office. He needed time to think; but first, he went to visit Professor Lupin.

* * *

Professor Lupin was merely disappointed that he hadn't kept Harry out of trouble. Draco shrugged it off. He had other, more pressing matters on his mind.

He stormed up to his dorm, not noticing the startled looks of the other students, and flung himself on his bed, drawing the emerald curtains around him.

One thought dominated his mind: his father had lied.

His father hadn't been under the Imperius when he sided with the Dark Lord. His father had wholehearted believed that purebloods were truly better than other people. Draco had known this; known from the words his father had preached; known from the way his father treated half-bloods and blood traitors, like the Weasleys… Yet Draco had willingly chosen to hide this fact from himself, had chosen to believe that his father had been tricked…

He groaned into his pillow, ashamed of his own thick-headedness.

As Draco continued thinking, he almost felt that something was slipping out of his grasp. He had always admired his father, wanted to be exactly like his father….

But his father despised Muggleborns. And when he thought of Hermione, he could no longer feel any contempt for her Mudblood status. He remembered telling her that he didn't think he was any better than her – which was true. He honestly felt that way. However, he had said differently when fighting with Pansy in the Slytherin Common Room, just to protect his social status.

_Merlin, I'm such a two-faced bastard_, he thought. Then he laughed to himself. _Just like my father._

Eventually, he drifted off to sleep. His dreams were filled with the faces of Lucius Malfoy and Sirius Black, and fraught with stories of lies and betrayal.

* * *

**In the book, Harry finds Lupin's disappointment much more punishing than Snape's fury. For Draco, it's the opposite – Lupin's disappointment means nothing to him. Also, I struggled for a long time with the Draco/Snape conversation – any feedback is greatly appreciated. **

**Thanks for reading.**


	24. The Grim

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

**And yes, the final pairing will be Draco/Hermione. The friendship between Draco/Harry is the main focal point, however. That is why this story is listed under Friendship, not Romance.**

**Draco still has a lot of issues to sort through before he admits to himself that he likes Hermione. Hopefully this chapter will satisfy Dramione fans for a while!**

* * *

The next morning, Draco was finishing breakfast when Ron came up to him. The Gryffindor looked devastated.

"Draco, Hagrid lost his case. Buckbeak is going to be executed."

"Serves him right," mumbled Vince. Draco shot him a sharp look, and Vince quickly focused on his toast.

"Hermione says there'll be an appeal, but she isn't hopeful," Ron continued.

They had a Care of Magical Creatures lesson that morning. Hagrid seemed numb with shock at the verdict. They spent the entire period observing flobberworms (again). Draco was bored out of his mind (as usual).

After class, they walked back up to the castle with the rest of the students.

"There's still the appeal!" said Ron to Hagrid. "Don't give up yet!"

"S'no good, Ron," said Hagrid sadly. And to Draco's shock, Hagrid again pulled out his tablecloth-sized handkerchief and started sobbing loudly in front of all his students. Draco's opinion of Hagrid dropped even lower. He started thinking seriously of dropping the class once again.

The entire class watched uncomfortably as Hagrid turned around and hurried back towards his cabin, his face buried in his handkerchief.

Draco looked after him with contempt. "That… was pathetic," he said.

SMACK!

Draco staggered. He saw stars.

"Don't you _dare_ call Hagrid pathetic! An innocent creature is about to die –" yelled Hermione. She raised her hand again.

"Hermione!" said Ron weakly, and he tried to grab her hand as she swung it back.

From behind him, Pansy stomped forward. "How dare you hit him, you stupid Mudblood _bitch_!" she screamed.

"Get _off_, Ron!" Hermione pulled out her wand, her eyes flitting between Pansy and Draco.

Draco straightened up, bringing out his own wand.

"Go away and shut up, Pansy!" he snarled, staring furiously at Hermione.

Pansy closed her mouth, shooting a terrified glance at Draco.

Hermione and Draco circled each other. Their classmates looked on, some nervously, others eagerly. They all knew that Hermione was a formidable witch; and Draco was nearly as good.

Draco heard Greg making bets with Theo, while Harry was mumbling to Ron, "Let them fight it out…"

Without warning, Hermione shot a Jelly-Legs Curse at him.

"_Protego_!" shouted Draco. The spell deflected.

"Where did you learn that?" asked Hermione, surprised.

"You aren't the only one who does a little independent research," Draco sneered.

They resumed their circling.

"You better apologize to Hagrid," hissed Hermione.

"I know your little _secret_," responded Draco, viciously. He still wasn't completely sure that she actually had an object with which she could time travel, but he was too angry at her and decided to take the chance.

Hermione turned pale. Their classmates suddenly hushed, leaning closer. Hermione had a secret?

"There's no way –" Hermione started to say, and Draco jumped at the chance.

"_Expelliarmus_!" he yelled.

Hermione ducked. "_Tarantallegra_!"

Draco deflected it again. With his wand still pointed at her, he stuck his other hand into his pocket and took out his watch. He glanced at the time.

"You're going to be late for Charms," he said. Then he smiled cruelly, "_and_ Study of Ancient Runes."

Hermione's eyes widened. "No," she whispered.

"Oh, that's right, you can always fix it so you won't be late, hm? All you have to do is –"

"_Immobulus_!" Hermione screamed.

Draco twisted out of the way, and the curse slammed into Vince, who toppled over, frozen. He spun back around, but Hermione was already running towards the castle. He chased after her, pushing Ron aside.

They sped through the entrance hall, knocking over a couple of first-years, and then Hermione turned a corner.

He followed, and saw her pounding on a door.

"Professor! Professor!" she yelled. He ran towards her and grabbed her wrists.

"What are you –?"

Then the door opened and Professor McGonagall was staring sternly down at them. Draco quickly let go of Hermione and took a step back.

"He knows! He knows!" cried Hermione, pointing at him. She looked as if she were about to burst into tears. Draco suddenly realized that his guess must be right; Hermione _was_ travelling through time to attend all her classes.

"Calm down, Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall. She turned to Draco. "Did she tell you or did you figure it out?"

"Figure it out," he said, slowly. He hoped that he wasn't in trouble.

"And you won't tell anyone, will you?"

Draco scuffed his feet. He _was_ going to, but now…

"No ma'am," he answered.

"Then there has been no harm done, Miss Granger."

Relieved, Hermione sagged against him, and Draco instinctively placed an arm around her. Then they both suddenly realized what they were doing and jerked away.

McGonagall had an amused glint in her eye. "Shouldn't you two be getting to class?"

"Yes ma'am," they said.

Hermione looked at him, stony-faced, then spun on her heel, stomping away. Something in her expression made Draco's heart squeeze uncomfortably, and before he knew it, he was jogging behind her, apologizing.

"Wait, Hermione, I'm sorry for what I said. I really truly am –"

"Oh, so you're done being a slimy git?"

Draco grabbed her arm, but she shook off his hand.

"I'm trying my best to apologize here!" he snapped.

"You find something out about me, and then try to use it against me? That's a rotten thing to do, you foul – you evil – _Slytherin._"

"Merlin, Hermione, I was frustrated, alright? You've been running around like a chicken with its head cut off, and you wouldn't even say a word about what's going on, I've been so worried and –"

She stopped and turned to look at him. "You were worried about me?"

Draco sighed, running his hands through his hair.

"Of course I've been worried!" he exploded. "After Arithmancy, you _always_ disappear to who-knows-where and then miraculously appear with textbooks that I _know_ you didn't have with you before…and you look tired all the time…"

"Well, now you know," Hermione said softly. Draco almost smiled, but then she jabbed her finger into his chest. Draco flinched back; it was where his scar was and the area was sensitive.

"That doesn't excuse you from what you said about Hagrid," she said fiercely.

Draco rolled his eyes. "A grown man crying in front of a bunch of students? Come on, that _was_ pathetic."

"As if you've never cried before!"

He looked at her oddly. "I haven't," he said.

"What?"

"I don't cry."

"Just admit it, Draco. There's no shame; everyone cries," said Hermione, exasperated.

"Honestly, I never have. Ask my mother," he insisted.

"So that gives you the right to make fun of people who do?"

Draco was tempted to say yes, but he knew that would set her off again. He took a deep breath.

"Look, Hermione, can we just…just call this a misunderstanding and put it behind us? I'm really, _really_ sorry and… I - I miss talking to you," he finished, miserably.

Hermione's bottom lip quivered, then she suddenly flung her arms around his neck and broke down completely. Draco went rigid, and patted her awkwardly on the top of the head. Finally, Hermione drew away.

"Draco, I - I've missed you too. I'm really, _really_ sorry about yelling at you… and h-hitting you and…" she sobbed.

"It's – alright," he said awkwardly. "Let's get you cleaned up and go to class, okay?"

She nodded, still hiccupping, and he gently took her by the hand and walked her to the girls' restroom.

When she came out, she was pulling a very long, very fine gold chain from the neck of her robes. A tiny sparkling hourglass hung from it.

"This is the Time-Turner," she said. "Come here."

Draco moved toward her, wide-eyed. Hermione threw the chain around his neck too.

"Ready?" she said.

Draco smiled down at her. They were standing very close; she smelled pleasant, although he couldn't quite identify the smell –

Hermione turned the hourglass over once.

The hall dissolved. Draco has the sensation that he was flying very fast, backward. A blur of colors and shapes rushed past him, his ears were pounding –

And then he felt solid ground beneath his feet, and everything came into focus again.

He was standing next to Hermione, right outside the front doors to the castle. He looked across the grounds, towards Hagrid's hut, and saw people beginning to walk towards them. There was Hagrid… and yes, he could see himself…

"Come! We can't let them see us!" Hermione grabbed Draco's arm and dragged him through the front doors. "Now we won't be late for class," she said.

Draco pulled out his pocket watch. They had about ten minutes until class started. A wide grin split across his face.

"Thank you," he said, sincerely. And then very quickly, he grabbed Hermione and pressed his lips to her forehead. When he let her go, Hermione stared at him, astonished, her face slightly pink. He smiled at her, and then walked off towards his next class with a big grin on his face, humming happily.

* * *

He, Blaise, and Tracey (the other two students had not selected Care of Magical Creatures as an elective) were the only Slytherins who made it to class in time. He watched gleefully as the rest of his classmates trooped in ten minutes late.

Luckily the class was History of Magic – and Professor Binns just continued to drone on…and on…

When the bell rang, Blaise nudged him.

"What are you so happy about?" he asked.

Draco blinked at him. "Huh?"

"You haven't stopped smiling since you walked in," said Blaise. "The history of witch hunts isn't _that_ interesting."

Pansy, who was walking by, stopped and said, "He dueled that Mudblood Granger."

Blaise, who generally treated everything as beneath him and rarely expressed surprise, almost dropped his bookbag. "What!?" he yelped. Then, "Did you win?"

Draco shrugged. Pansy answered for him, "Granger ran off before the end."

Blaise laughed.

"What's her secret, by the way?" Pansy asked Draco.

Draco winked at her. "My lips are sealed," he said cheerfully. He could tell that Pansy was dying to know, but he quickly gave her serious look and shook his head. She paled, then walked away.

Blaise was looking at him blandly, but Draco could tell he was impressed. "You got something over her, eh?" he said. Again, Draco shrugged.

As they walked to lunch, Blaise kept asking him questions about Pansy. Draco didn't answer most of them. Finally, as they sat down, Draco said, "Look, Blaise, if you want to date her, I have no problem with it. Just be warned: she's a little bitch."

Blaise choked on his pumpkin juice. "Who says I want to date her!" he sputtered.

Draco smirked, and then took bite out of his sandwich.

* * *

Soon it was the Easter holidays. Draco had resumed his daily study sessions with Hermione. He often helped cover for her when she randomly disappeared due to the Time-Turner. And he consoled her when she finally dropped Divination.

However, even without Divination, she was still taking more subjects than any other third year student. She was always at the library before Draco arrived; and she stayed there long after he left. She had shadows like Lupin's under her eyes, and seemed constantly frazzled.

Ron had made up with Hermione about her cat, and so he often joined Draco in researching for Buckbeak's appeal. When they weren't doing their own work, Draco and Ron would pore over enormously thick volumes with names like _The Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology _and _Fowl or Foul? A Study of Hippogriff Brutality_.

Draco also had to fit in Quidditch practice into his busy schedule. The Gryffindor-Slytherin match would take place on the first Saturday after the Easter holidays. Slytherin was leading the tournament by exactly two hundred points. Marcus Flint was fairly confident about their chances for the Quidditch Cup, but constantly reminded his team that the current Gryffindor team was a force to be reckoned with. Despite their early defeat to Hufflepuff, the Gryffindors had rebounded spectacularly.

The rivalry between the two Houses reached a fever pitch. Never, in anyone's memory, had a match approached such a highly charged atmosphere. By the time the holidays were over, tension between the two Houses was at the breaking point. A number of small scuffles broke out in the corridors, culminating in a nasty incident in which a Gryffindor fourth year and a Slytherin sixth year ended up in the hospital wing with leeks sprouting out of their ears.

Both Harry and Draco were having a particularly bad time. They couldn't walk to class without students from the rival House trying to trip them up. Draco particularly feared Ron's older brothers – Fred and George Weasley pranked him mercilessly. He quickly learned to keep his wand out at all times for self-defense, and to never eat anything offered to him.

The day of the game, the Slytherin team entered the Great Hall for breakfast to enormous applause from their Housemates. When the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall, their table, too, applauded loudly. Then the entire school hushed as Harry strode over to Draco.

Draco felt thousands of eyes watching as Harry bent to whisper in his ear.

"I saw the Grim again last night," he said. His voice trembled.

Draco's lips tightened, then he turned his head to reply quietly in Harry's ear. "I got your back." Then he added, lightly, "But don't think I'm going to go easy on you."

Harry's expression was grateful as he straightened and clapped Draco on the shoulder. "Good luck," he said, loudly.

"You too," Draco responded.

* * *

The game was the dirtiest game Draco had ever played in. It seemed that Madam Hooch was blowing her whistle every few seconds to call a foul. Katie Bell, who was one of the Gryffindor Chasers, kept shooting Draco dirty looks and getting in his way. Draco realized, far too late, that he had completely ignored her since their date in Hogsmeade.

Harry was an extremely tricky Seeker to play against. He kept diving at random, causing Draco to second-guess whether he had actually seen the Snitch or not. Draco retaliated by pulling his own tricks, marking him so closely that their knees kept hitting each other. Their friendship and respect for each other only caused them to try even harder.

Draco quickly realized that his broom simply could not compete with Harry's Firebolt. Turn after turn, he found himself blocked by Harry, causing him to swerve dangerously to avoid fouling.

Unfortunately Slytherin was losing badly. If Harry caught the Snitch, then Slytherin would lose the House Cup…

Suddenly Harry sped off. Draco realized immediately that the Gryffindor was pulling another trick – this time to help his Chaser score. And then he saw it – there, a few feet above the grass, was a tiny, golden glimmer –

The Snitch!

He dove with a shout of triumph, realizing that Harry was distracted at the opposite end of the field. The wind ripped his voice out of his mouth. He could reach it in three… two…. one….

A crimson blur shot past him, knocking his arm away. Draco barely managed to pull out of the dive without smashing into the ground. He looked around wildly.

And there was Harry, his arm raised high with the tiny golden ball held tightly in his fist.

Draco had an odd ringing in his ears. _How had Harry gotten there so fast? _Heat flooded his face – he had been so,_ so close_. And because of him…they had lost. Not just the game, but the Quidditch Cup. Draco didn't want to face his team. He couldn't bear it.

He turned, guiding his broom to land… then he saw something that distracted him completely.

An enormous, shaggy black dog was sitting in the top empty row of the bleachers. It had its tongue hanging out happily and it was, as much as possible for a dog, _smiling_.

Draco kept his eyes firmly on the dog. He flew towards it, slowly. No one was paying attention to him – they were all watching Dumbledore giving the Gryffindors the Quidditch Cup.

He was hovering right beside the dog before it noticed him. It jumped sideways, startled, then started to growl, deep in its throat. It was even larger up close, almost bear-like. Its eyes were pale and seemed to regard him with human-like intelligence.

Draco licked his lips nervously.

"You're not the Grim, are you?" he said, feeling a bit silly about speaking to a dog.

The dog stopped growling. It seemed to tilt its head in amusement. Then the Draco's shock, it shook its head.

"Harry Potter told me that he's seen you around," said Draco.

The dog whined quietly, then relaxed its defensive posture. It sat back on its haunches. Draco glanced around, making sure that no one was paying attention to them. Then he landed on the bleachers and dismounted his broom. The dog came closer, and Draco reached out a tentative hand to scratch it behind its ear.

"Are you… a familiar?"

The dog barked once. It sounded almost like a laugh. Then it shook its head.

Draco frowned. "Then what are you? You're too smart to be a normal dog… "

A low rumble started in the dog's chest, and Draco quickly backtracked. "Okay, okay, I won't ask about that. Well, what are you doing here? Are you looking for someone?"

The dog hesitated, then nodded.

"Let me guess: Harry Potter?"

The dog shook its head.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "That's surprising. Anything weird that goes on here is usually related to Harry," he said. The dog barked again, and Draco grinned.

He turned to look across the field. It was a beautiful, sunny day. The stadium was nearly empty – almost everyone had left. Draco propped his broom up against the bleachers, then sat down by the dog. He felt much better. Talking to the dog had cleared his head. He wanted to sit here as long as possible; he didn't want to head down to his dorm, where he was sure to be scolded by Marcus.

"I wish you could talk. Then I could deliver a message from you to whoever you're looking for."

The dog cocked its head. Draco couldn't help but to smile again. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, then Draco sighed. He had to face the fire sooner or later.

"I should go now. Thank you for not running away."

The dog's tongue lolled out happily and it seemed to grin. Then it turned and started bounding down the bleachers. Soon it was running across the Quidditch pitch, then it disappeared behind some trees.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please keep the reviews coming. It's very encouraging, and also helps me realize when plot points are unclear. **

**For everyone who has written a review, thank you for helping me improve!**


	25. Sirius Black

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

When Draco told Harry of his encounter with the black dog, Harry was greatly relieved that it wasn't the Grim. However, both boys were still puzzled as to what it was doing wandering around school.

The Slytherins were extremely upset about the Quidditch Cup finals. Draco avoided his classmates as much as possible, preferring to hide out in the library. Luckily he didn't have much time to mope; the end of May was approaching quickly, and exams were nearly upon them.

When exam week began, an unnatural hush fell across the castle. Draco's first exam was Arithmancy, which he was fairly confident about since Hermione had convinced him to work hundreds of extra practice problems. Next was the Study of Ancient Runes exam, which he felt good about, even if he mixed up a few symbols.

He spent the evening practicing Transfiguration and Charms; he was worried since they required lots of practice and magical skill, rather than time spent with books. The following morning, he was relieved when his teapot turned into a tortoise without a hitch; and his Cheering Charm on Greg went beautifully.

He didn't even bother studying for Care of Magical Creatures – and it was the easiest exam he had ever taken. Hagrid merely handed them each a flobberworm, and told them it had to be alive at the end of the hour.

Potions, his favorite subject, was a breeze. For Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Lupin set up the most unusual and entertaining exam that Draco had ever taken; then came Astronomy at midnight; and Herbology on Thursday morning in the baking-hot greenhouses.

His last exam, on Thursday afternoon, was History of Magic. When it was finally over, he wandered to the entrance hall.

Hermione was already there. She looked upset.

"Didn't you just have Muggle Studies? Please don't tell me you think you failed _that_," said Draco as he walked up to her.

Wordlessly, she handed him a note. He scanned it with a sinking heart.

_Lost appeal. They're going to execute at sunset. Nothing you can do. Don't come down. I don't want you to see it._

_Hagrid_

Harry and Ron came after they finished their Divination exam.

"Professor Trelawney just told me –" said Harry. Then he stopped abruptly at the sight of their faces. "What's wrong?"

Draco handed him Hagrid's note.

"We've got to go," said Harry at once. "He can't just sit there on his own, waiting for the executioner!"

"Sunset, though," said Ron, who was looking at the note as if he couldn't decide whether to tear it apart or crumple it his fist. "We'd never be allowed… 'specially you, Harry. …"

Harry sank his head into his hands. "If we only had the Invisibility Cloak," he groaned.

"Where is it?" said Hermione.

Harry explained. Hermione immediately turned, strode across the entrance hall, rounded a corner, and vanished from sight.

"She hasn't gone to get it?" Ron said, staring after her.

Draco grinned. "Of course she has."

Sure enough, Hermione returned a quarter of an hour later with the silvery cloak folded carefully under her robes.

Ron eyed the cloak. "We can't all fit under that," he said.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, thinking.

"I'll meet you at Hagrid's hut after dinner," he said, finally.

"What!" yelped Ron. "You'll get caught!"

Draco smirked. "I'm a Malfoy. I'll be fine."

Hermione muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "cocky bastard."

But no one had a better idea, so they went off to dinner.

* * *

Draco noticed Pansy's eyes following him as he got up from the table early. He groaned inwardly. Well, it couldn't be helped. He trusted that she would keep her mouth shut about him, although he may have to come up with another way to threaten her…

As he tried to head discreetly towards the front entrance, he wished that he hadn't grown as much as he had – his height and platinum blonde hair made him stand out too much.

"Where are you going, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco looked down to see Professor Flitwick looking sharply up at him.

"I needed to speak to Hagrid, sir. I would greatly appreciate it if you could accompany me?"

Flitwick looked suspicious. "What about?"

Draco thought quickly. Flitwick was too intelligent; he would see through a lie instantly. Draco decided to tell the truth.

"It's about the hippogriff, sir. I'm not sure if you've heard… I wanted to offer my condolences to Hagrid…"

Flitwick seemed to have many thoughts running through his mind. Then he nodded.

Relieved, Draco followed the diminutive professor. As they walked across the grounds, Flitwick spoke quietly.

"You do know your father is the main reason for this… unfortunate situation?"

Draco didn't have to fake the miserable expression on his face. "Yes sir," he said.

Flitwick's voice softened. "You are a very interesting young man, Malfoy. It's rather unusual to find a Slytherin who also has a heart… no offense, of course."

Draco suppressed a laugh. _What is he talking about? Of course Slytherins have hearts_, he thought. _We just don't wear them on our sleeves…_

"Did I ever tell you," Flitwick said suddenly, "that your Aunt Andromeda was one of my favorite students? Quick learner, extremely clever…"

Draco was startled. "No sir," he replied. Then he added, softly, "We don't keep in touch."

Flitwick nodded understandingly, then said, "You did very well on your exam on Tuesday. Reminded me of her…"

"Thank you, sir," Draco said politely, although his stomach twisted into knots. Snape had said the same... _Do I really resemble my mother's blood traitor sister...? _

He didn't like the comparison.

They reached Hagrid's cabin and knocked. Hagrid took a minute in answering, and when he did, he was pale-faced and trembling.

"Draco! Yeh shouldn've come!" he said, but he stood back.

"You'll walk him back to the castle, Hagrid? Then I'll head back now… I'm sorry about the poor creature," said Flitwick. Hagrid nodded distractedly, and Flitwick left.

Hagrid was not crying. Draco sat down, glad that he didn't have to deal with the waterworks.

They sat in awkward silence for a few seconds when another knock came. Hagrid opened the door again. Draco heard Harry's voice, although there appeared to be no one at the door.

"It's us. We're wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in and we can take it off."

Once the door was safely closed, the three Gryffindors popped out of thin air, looking disheveled.

"You made it, Draco!" Hermione cried. "We saw Flitwick and got worried…"

Draco smiled at her. "How could you doubt me?"

She smacked his arm lightly.

"Where's Buckbeak, Hagrid?" said Harry.

"I – I took him outside. Thought he oughta see the trees an' – an' smell fresh air – before –"

Hagrid's hand trembled so violently that the milk jug slipped from his grasp and shattered all over the floor.

"I'll do it, Hagrid," said Hermione quickly, hurrying over and starting to clean up the mess.

"There's another one in the cupboard," Hagrid said. He sat down, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"Isn't there anything anyone can do?" Ron asked fiercely. "Dumbledore –"

"He tried….but he's got no power ter overrule the Committee. They're scared… Draco, yeh know what yer dad's like… an' the executioner, Macnair, he's an old pal o' yer dad's…"

Draco stared down at the table. _If only I hadn't gotten hurt_, he thought bitterly.

Hermione suddenly let out a shriek.

"Ron! I – I don't believe it – it's _Scabbers_!"

Ron gaped at her. Hermione carried the new milk jug over to the table and turned it upside down. With a frantic squeak, and much scrambling to get back inside, Scabbers the rat came sliding out onto the table.

"Scabbers!" said Ron blankly. "Scabbers, what are you doing here?"

He grabbed the struggling rat.

Hagrid suddenly stood up, his eyes fixed on the window. His normally ruddy face had gone the color of parchment. "They're comin'. …"

Every head whipped around. A group of men was walking down the distant castle steps.

"Yeh gotta go," said Hagrid. Every inch of him was trembling.

Ron stuffed Scabbers in his pocket, and Hermione picked up the cloak. The four students squeezed out of Hagrid's back door. Buckbeak was tethered to a tree a few yards away.

"Draco…" whispered Harry. The cloak couldn't cover them all.

"Get under! I'll be fine!" said Draco.

His three friends disappeared under the cloak. Draco straightened up just in time to hear Hagrid's front door open. The execution party had arrived.

"Where is the beast?" came the harsh voice of Macnair. Draco stepped back into Hagrid's hut. The men turned to him, startled.

Draco nodded politely at the men.

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore, Minister Fudge, and Mr. Macnair," he said pleasantly.

"W-what are you doing here, Malfoy?" Fudge sputtered.

"The beast has scarred me permanently, sir. Am I not allowed to witness its punishment?" Draco said coldly, doing his best imitation of his father.

"Y-you shouldn' have ter see t-this, Draco," Hagrid said. He was wide-eyed, looking at intensely at Draco, as if wondering if the Slytherin was planning something.

Draco didn't have a plan; he just wanted to get out of there without getting in trouble. He glanced at Dumbledore.

The Headmaster was regarding him with a strange expression. "You may stay if you wish, Mr. Malfoy," he said. His voice sent shivers down Draco's spine – he had never heard Dumbledore sound so stern.

Fudge cleared his throat. "Well, let's get back on track. Where's the beast, Hagrid?"

"Out – outside," Hagrid croaked.

Macnair peered out of Hagrid's window, and grunted.

"We – er – have to read you the official notice of execution, Hagrid – " Fudge began.

Draco stood quietly by as Fudge read out loud. Then Macnair and Hagrid signed some paperwork.

"Well, let's get this over with," said Fudge.

Draco turned, his heart heavy, and followed the men outside. Then he stopped, not believing his eyes.

Buckbeak was gone.

It took all of Draco's willpower to keep a straight face. He wanted to jump around and celebrate.

"Where is it?" said Fudge, confused. "Where is the beast?"

"It was tied here!" said Macnair, furiously. "I saw it! Just here!"

"How extraordinary," said Dumbledore. There was a note of amusement in his voice. Draco looked up to see the Headmaster regarding him with twinkle in his eye. Draco blinked up at him, hoping that his expression looked properly confused. He hadn't done anything!

Hagrid was howling. "Beaky! Gone! Gone! Bless his little beak, he's _gone_! Musta pulled himself free! Beaky, yeh clever boy!"

"Someone untied him!" Macnair shouted. "We should search the grounds, the forest –"

"Macnair, if Buckbeak has indeed been stolen, do you really think the thief would have led him away on foot?" said Dumbledore, still sounding amused. "Search the skies, if you will. … Hagrid, I could do with a cup of tea. Or a large brandy. Draco, you should get back to the castle."

"Yes sir," said Draco, managing to fake a note of disappointment into his voice. He could barely restrain himself from skipping away.

He settled for a fast walk, hurrying as quickly as possible towards the castle. He couldn't wait to tell his friends. As he went, the very last rays of the setting sun were casting a bloody light over the long-shadowed grounds.

Draco noticed an animal, slinking through the bushes beside him. He paused, wondering if it was the large black dog again. He peered closer – no, it was Hermione's cat, Crookshanks. Puzzled, he stopped and watched.

Crookshanks seemed to be stalking… nothing. Then it pounced.

A rat seemed to appear out of thin air, followed by Ron. Draco jumped back with a yelp. The cat bounded after the rat.

He heard Hermione's voice say, "Come back, Ron!"

Ron was yelling. "Get away from him – get away – Scabbers, come _here_ – gotcha! Get off, you stinking cat –"

Draco ran towards Ron. "Get back under the cloak, it's just a rat," he hissed, trying to drag Ron up. Harry and Hermione had pulled off the cloak as well and were running towards them.

But before they could cover themselves again, they heard the soft pounding of gigantic paws. Draco turned… Something was bounding toward them – an enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog.

It bowled Harry over, then turned to Ron. It leaped – its jaws fastened around Ron's outstretched arm. Harry and Draco lunged forward, grabbing at the dog, but it was dragging Ron away as easily as though he were a rag doll –

Then out of nowhere, something hit Draco hard across the chest. He gasped in pain, then fell, knocked off his feet. He heard Hermione shriek, and Harry grunt, then two hard thumps as his friends also hit the ground.

Draco looked around blearily, clutching at his chest and gasping. The sunlight had faded – it was getting dark.

He heard Harry whisper, "_Lumos_!"

A light appeared. They were lying by the Whomping Willow, its branches whipping back and forth to stop them going nearer. And there, at the base of the trunk, was the dog, dragging Ron backward into a large gap in the roots…

"Ron!" Harry shouted, trying to follow, but a heavy branch whipped through the air. Draco winced as Harry took a blow to the head, forced backward again.

"We've got to go for help – " Hermione gasped; she was bleeding too; the Willow had cut her across the shoulder.

"No!" Harry shouted. "That thing's big enough to eat him! We haven't got time -" He charged forward.

Draco grabbed him, pulling him back just as another branch whooshed through the air. "This tree is impossible to get through," said Draco, panting. "You're going to kill yourself!"

"If that dog can get in, we can!" Harry struggled in Draco's grasp.

"Oh, help, help," Hermione whispered frantically. She was waving her wand and dancing uncertainly on the spot, as if trying to think of a useful spell. "Please…"

Crookshanks darted forward. He slithered between the battering branches like a snake and placed his front paws upon a knot on the trunk. Abruptly, the tree stopped moving.

The three students stared, stunned, then Harry tore forward, shaking off Draco's hand. "Come on!" he yelled.

Draco and Hermione exchanged a glance of terror, then scrambled after him.

* * *

The tunnel lead to an empty, dusty room. Draco looked around; paper was peeling from the walls; there were stains all over the floor; every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were all boarded up.

"I think we're in the Shrieking Shack," Hermione whispered.

They heard a creak overhead. Something had moved upstairs. Harry looked back at them, and then jerked his head up. Draco felt Hermione clutch at his arm.

They followed Harry, wands out, moving quietly through the room, out into the hall, and up a crumbling staircase.

There was only one door upstairs. As they crept toward it, they heard movement from behind it, and then a low moan.

Harry motioned them back, then ran forward and kicked the door wide open.

Across the room, on the floor, clutching at his leg, which stuck out at a strange angle, was Ron.

Harry and Hermione dashed across to him. Draco was more cautious – he immediately looked around – where was the dog?

He spun around towards the closest wall and found himself face to face with a man. Draco gasped, jerking his wand in front of him. The man had filthy, matted hair; his waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull. His yellow teeth were bared in a grin. He was clutching Ron's wand.

It was Sirius Black.

They stared at each other while Harry and Hermione fussed over Ron. Draco barely dared to breathe.

From over his shoulder, he heard Ron say, "He's the dog… he's an Animagus…"

Something clicked in Draco's mind. _The black dog was Sirius Black…_

"I thought you weren't after Harry," Draco whispered.

Black's eyes glinted strangely. "I'm not," he said hoarsely.

"Then who _–_?"

"_Expelliarmus_!" shouted Harry, from behind him.

Ron's wand flew out of Black's grasp.

Harry strode forward, his wand pointing straight at Black's heart.

"Get out of the way!" he shouted at Draco.

Draco turned to stand in front of Black; he leveled his wand at Harry.

"Draco! What are you doing?" said Hermione, horrified.

"Let him explain," said Draco. He glared at Harry.

"Explain what? HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!" Harry yelled.

"He's not after you! Let him talk!"

"He sold my parents to Voldemort! That's all I need to know." Harry's green eyes had a wild, ferocious look to them.

"Killing him won't bring your parents back," Draco snapped.

Harry stared at him, not moving. The seconds lengthened. And still Harry stood frozen there, wand poised.

Then they heard muffled footsteps moving downstairs…

"WE'RE UP HERE!" Hermione screamed suddenly. "WE'RE UP HERE – SIRIUS BLACK – _QUICK_!"

The door of the room burst open in a shower of red sparks and Professor Lupin came hurtling into the room. His eyes flickered around the room…

"_Expelliarmus_!" he shouted.

Draco's, Harry's and Hermione's wands flew out of their hands. Lupin caught them deftly, then turned to Black.

"Where is he, Sirius?" he said, in a very tense voice.

Very slowly, Black raised his hand and pointed straight at Ron.

Lupin stared at Black intently. "But then… why hasn't he shown himself before now? Unless…_he_ was the one… unless you switched… without telling me?"

Black nodded.

Professor Lupin's eyes widened. Then, the four students watched, shocked, as Professor Lupin walked to Black's side, seized his hand, and embraced Black like a brother.

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT!" Hermione screamed. "You and him!"

She stomped toward Lupin, but Draco moved to intercept her.

"Hermione, calm down –" he said.

Hermione struggled against him as she shrieked, "NO! He's been helping Black get into the castle, he wants Harry dead – _he's a werewolf_!"

Draco already knew this, but Ron gasped. Harry just looked confused.

"I have _not_ been helping Sirius," said Lupin, quietly. "If you'll give me a chance, I'll explain. Look – "

He separated Harry's, Hermione's, and Draco's wands and threw each back to its owner.

"There," said Lupin, sticking his own wand back into his belt. "You're armed, we're not. Now will you listen?"

And then he began to explain.

* * *

Everything began to make sense. Lupin, Black, Harry's father and Pettigrew were illegal Animagus. Pettigrew had been the real Secret Keeper. Black was innocent. And after the long story was told…

"Give me the rat," said Lupin.

"What are you going to do with him if I give him to you?" asked Ron. Draco made a noise of disgust – it was just a _rat_ – but Lupin gave him a sharp glance and he fell quiet again.

"Force him to show himself. If he really is a rat, it won't hurt him."

Ron hesitated. Then at long last, he held out Scabbers.

Lupin took Scabbers tightly in one hand and his wand in the other. He pointed his wand at the rat.

A flash of blue-white light erupted from his wand; for a moment, Scabbers was frozen in midair, his small gray form twisting madly – Hermione screamed, her hand clutched Draco's arm – the rat fell on the floor.

And then a short man appeared. His watery eyes flitted to the windows, then to the door, breathing fast and shallow.

Black and Lupin loomed over him threateningly. Pettigrew whimpered, then crawled towards Ron.

"Ron… kind boy… kind master… you won't let them kill me… I was your rat… I was a good pet…"

Ron was staring at Pettigrew with revulsion. "I let you sleep in my _bed_!" he said. He wrenched his broken leg out of Pettigrew's reach. Pettigrew turned on his knees, staggered forward, and seized the hem of Hermione's robes.

"Sweet girl… clever girl…"

Draco pulled Hermione away. "Don't you put your filthy hands on her," he snarled. He raised his wand. "And don't you beg_ me_ for your worthless life."

Pettigrew turned his head slowly toward Harry.

"Harry… Harry… you look just like your father… just like him…"

"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?" roared Black. He strode forward, seized Pettigrew's shoulder, and threw him backward onto the floor. "You sold Lily and James to Voldemort," said Black, who was shaking in fury. "Do you deny it?"

Pettigrew burst into tears. It was horrible to watch, like an oversized, balding baby, cowering on the floor.

"You don't understand!" he sobbed. "He would have killed me, Sirius!"

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" roared Black. "DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!"

"You should have realized," said Lupin quietly, raising his wand, "if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Good-bye, Peter."

Hermione covered her face with her hands. Draco drew her into his arms and she trembled against him.

"NO!" Harry yelled. He ran forward, placing himself in front of Pettigrew. "You can't kill him," he said breathlessly. "You can't."

Draco could only stare in shock. He felt a jumble of emotions: amazement, disgust, astonishment, and a very strong desire to give Harry a huge whack on the head.

Then out of nowhere, a harsh voice shouted, "_Expelliarmus!_"

Every wand went flying. There was a mad rush as everyone leapt for a wand. Draco scrambled for his, then he heard Pettigrew's squeaky voice screaming, "_Stupefy! Stupefy!_"

Then there was a loud _BANG!_

And another voice – Lupin's – shouted, "No, Severus! You're making a mistake!"

Draco felt his wand, and grasped it firmly. "_Protego_!" A silvery-blue shield appeared around him, and he cautiously stood up, his back to the wall.

In the scramble, dust had been flung into the air; everything was dim and hazy. Professor Snape had appeared out of nowhere, his wand pointed at Black, who was unarmed. He was staring back at Snape with an expression of utmost hatred. Draco saw, with horror, the Invisibility Cloak in Snape's left hand.

Lupin was on the floor, unable to speak or move, his mouth, wrists, and ankles bound with thin snakelike cords. He, too, was staring at Snape, but pleadingly instead of with hatred.

To his left, Hermione was slumped on the ground, unconscious. Ron was still lying against the wall, his white face now tinged with green. He was the only one who hadn't gone after his wand because of his injured leg, and was now staring with a terrified expression at Snape.

In the corner across the room from Draco was Harry, who had also recovered his wand. He met Draco's eyes. Harry's mouth moved silently.

Confused, Draco glanced around again. Then he realized – where was Pettigrew?

"Vengeance is very sweet," Snape sneered at Black. "How I hoped I would be the one to catch you…"

"You – you've got to hear me out," Black croaked. "There's been a mistake, Severus…"

Snape ignored him. "The dementors will be very pleased to see you, Black… please enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay…"

What little color there was in Black's face left it.

"No… Severus…"

Draco spoke up. "Professor Snape, it wouldn't hurt to hear what he's got to say, would it?"

Snape's head whipped around. There was a mad glint in his eyes that Draco had never seen before. He seemed beyond reason.

"Mr. Malfoy, despite my warnings you _still_ continue to flirt with danger," he spat. "You, Potter, Weasley, and Granger are out-of-bounds, in the company of a convicted murderer and a werewolf. I advise you to _hold your tongue_."

Draco gritted his teeth. When Snape turned his attention back to Black, Draco quietly raised his wand. He looked meaningfully at Harry, who raised his wand as well.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

"_Immobulus_!"

There was a blast that made the door rattle on its hinges; Harry's spell slammed Snape into the wall and then Draco's Freezing Charm hit Snape's chest, and he fell, stiff as a board, to the floor, a trickle of blood oozing from under his hair.

"You shouldn't have done that," said Black huskily. "You should have left him to me. …" He bent to untie Lupin.

"Thank you," said Lupin. He rubbed his arms where the ropes had cut into them. "Where did Peter go?"

"I saw it… he transformed…and ran out…" said Ron quietly.

Lupin's eyes settled on Draco. "That's a nice Shield Charm, Draco," he said. "Impressive."

"What do we do now?" said Black, heavily. He had Snape's wand in his hand. He walked over to Hermione, and said, "_Rennervate._"

Hermione moaned, and Black helped her up.

Lupin shook his head, then straightened up, suddenly businesslike. "The students need to get back to the school. Sirius, you should run. I doubt Peter will be staying around Hogwarts any longer. Ron, I can't mend bones nearly as well as Madam Pomfrey so let me just strap your leg up…"

He hurried over to Ron, bent down, tapped Ron's leg with his wand, and muttered, "_Ferula_." Bandages spun up Ron's leg, strapping it tightly to a splint. Lupin helped him to his feet. Then he went to Professor Snape and examined him.

"Still out cold… and frozen. That's quite a strong Disarming Spell you got there, Harry. Well done. Perhaps it will be best if we don't revive him until we're safely back in the castle…"

He muttered a spell and Snape was pulled up, floating a few inches above the ground.

As a group, they moved out of the room.

* * *

They were halfway towards the castle when the clouds shifted. Dim shadows appeared on the ground. Their party was bathed in moonlight.

Lupin suddenly stopped. His body went rigid. Then his limbs began to shake.

"Oh, my –" Hermione gasped. "He didn't take his potion tonight! He's not safe!"

"Run," Black said, hoarsely. "Run. NOW!"

Draco didn't need to be told twice. He backed away quickly, but couldn't resist glancing back.

Black transformed into the giant black dog, and wrestled Lupin away. They bounded, together, snarling and clawing at each other, into the forest.

Harry was trying to help Ron.

"Go! Go ahead… I'll be fine," Ron panted, limping along.

"We can't just leave you, Ron!"

Then they heard a yelping, a whining: a dog in pain. …

"Sirius," Harry muttered, and then he went tearing into the darkness.

"No! Harry!" Hermione yelled, and she followed him.

Draco threw his hands in the air, exasperated, and then went running after them as well.

The yelping seemed to be coming from the ground near the edge of the lake. They pelted toward it. And then Draco began to feel the cold…oh no….

The yelping stopped abruptly. And as they reached the lakeshore, they saw why – Sirius had turned back into a man. He was crouched on all fours, his hands over his head.

"_Nooo_," he moaned. "_Nooo… please…_"

And then Draco saw them. Dementors, at least a hundred of them, gliding in a black mass around the lake toward them. An icy fear seized him, and he began shaking vigorously.

Draco heard Harry yell, "Think of something happy!"

_Something…happy?_

Harry was chanting some sort of spell. "_Expecto patronum_! _Expecto patronum_!"

Beside him, Hermione whispered, "_Expecto – expecto…_"

Draco tried to speak, but his lips stayed frozen. He felt his knees hit the cold grass. Fog was clouding his eyes... a paralyzing terror filled him so that he couldn't move... he couldn't think anymore.

He collapsed on the ground, and all went black.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please review.**


	26. Summertime

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

Draco woke up in the infirmary. Ron and Hermione were out cold. Black had been captured – and he was to receive the Dementor's Kiss.

Harry was also awake, pleading with Minister Fudge for Sirius Black's life. But of course, the Minister didn't believe the word of a thirteen-year-old.

And then, Dumbledore requested to speak to them alone.

"_You believe us_," Harry said desperately.

"Yes, I do," said Dumbledore. "But I have no power to make other men see the truth, or to overrule the Minister of Magic,… _but_..."

Dumbledore's light blue eyes moved from Harry to Draco. "McGonagall told me that you figured something out, all on your own, Draco. What we need is more _time_."

Draco eyes widened. He glanced at the unconscious Hermione, and then back at Dumbledore. The Headmaster's eyes twinkled, and he nodded.

"Now, pay attention," said Dumbledore, speaking very low, and very clearly. "Sirius is locked in Professor Flitwick's office on the seventh floor. Thirteenth window from the right of the West Tower. If all goes well, you will be able to save more than one innocent life tonight. But remember this, both of you: _You – must – not – be – seen_."

Draco nodded. His brain was whirring fast – he had so many questions…

Dumbledore turned to the door. "I'm going to lock you in. It is –" he consulted his watch, "five minutes to midnight. Mr. Malfoy, three turns should do it. Good luck."

"Good luck?" Harry repeated as the door closed behind Dumbledore. "Three turns? What's he talking about?"

Draco jumped up and went to Hermione's bed. Moonlight was falling across her hair; she looked calm and utterly peaceful. Draco bent over her and found the golden chain around her neck. He gently removed it, making sure that it didn't tangle in her hair, then turned to Harry.

"Harry, come here," he said.

Harry looked completely bewildered. Impatiently, Draco pulled his friend closer and draped the chain around their necks. Then, remembering what Hermione had done, he turned the hourglass over three times.

Everything blurred. Like before, Draco had the sensation that he was flying very fast, backward.

They landed right outside the front door of the castle. Draco jerked on Harry's arm.

"Come on! We need to hide…quickly…"

"What's going on?"

"I'll explain in a minute, just trust me!"

They tore across the grounds, behind the greenhouses, skirted around the Whomping Willow, then into the forest. They paused at the edge, panting. Draco checked his pocket watch.

"I should be coming out with Flitwick soon now…"

"What?"

"We've gone back in time, Harry."

Harry sputtered. "What? Why did Hermione…"

"That's how she was getting to all her classes."

Comprehension dawned on Harry's face.

"So…we can change the past?" he looked excited.

Draco looked sharply at Harry. Then he explained as quickly as he could, everything that he had read about time travel, and then what he thought Dumbledore wanted them to do.

"We have to be very, very careful not to be seen, Harry. That is absolutely _critical_."

* * *

The next few hours passed in a blur. Thinking back, Draco still wasn't sure how they had managed to do it. It was a miracle.

After Macnair glanced out the window of Hagrid's hut, they managed to free Buckbeak. Then they waited – and watched as Black was captured. Harry conjured his Patronus, the silver antlered creature that Draco had seen at the Quidditch match, months ago. It drove off the dementors, saving their own lives. And finally, when it was time, they flew up to rescue Black.

Draco pointed his wand at Black's window. "_Alohomora_," he murmured.

The window sprang open.

"How – how - ?" said Black weakly, staring at the hippogriff.

"Get on – there's not much time," said Harry. "The dementors are coming."

Black placed a hand on either side of the window frame and heaved his head and shoulders out of it. In seconds, he managed to fling one leg over Buckbeak's back and pull himself onto the hippogriff.

"Okay, Buckbeak, up!" said Harry. They flew to the top of the West Tower. Harry and Draco clambered off.

"Sirius, you'd better go, quick," Harry panted. "They'll find out you're gone soon…"

Black stared down at Harry. "What happened to…the others?

"They're fine. Just go – "

Then Black glanced at Draco. "… Malfoy, was it? You're Lucius and Narcissa's son?"

Draco nodded tersely. There was a strange look on Black's face. His mouth twisted oddly, but then he smiled.

"I saw Hagrid's lesson on hippogriffs… when you leapt in front of Harry, I could not believe, a Slytherin, a _Malfoy_… How can I ever thank –"

"GO!" Harry and Draco shouted together.

Black wheeled Buckbeak around. "We'll see each other again," he said to Harry, his voice thick with emotion. "You are – truly your father's son, Harry…"

Then he squeezed Buckbeak's sides with his heels and was gone.

* * *

The sun was shining brightly; the sky was clear and blue. The weather was absolutely beautiful. Students loitered about the grounds, waiting for exam results to be posted. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Draco were lying on the grass, under a tree, still talking about the extraordinary events of the previous night.

"Wouldn't it be amazing to try and become Animagi?" Ron said dreamily.

"With Harry getting into life-threatening situations every year, I daresay we don't have time for that," Draco said lazily. He twirled a daffodil between his fingers.

"What could be worse than a teacher possessed by You-Know-Who?" asked Ron.

"Or a basilisk hidden deep under the school?"

"Or an escaped convicted murderer who turns out to be Harry's godfather?"

"Or dementors?"

They all shuddered.

Ron nudged Harry. "Harry, what's been up with you? You've been mopping around all day."

Harry frowned. "After my Divination exam yesterday, Professor Trelawney said something really strange…"

Hermione snorted. "Did she predict your death _again_? Come on, we all know she's a quack – "

"Listen," Harry said seriously, "Her voice went all weird and deep, and her eyes rolled back, and then afterwards she became normal again and didn't remember it at all… and I asked Dumbledore about it and he said that it was true. It was a real prophecy."

"What did she say?" asked Hermione curiously.

Harry took a shaky breath. "She said Voldemort's servant was going to set out to return to him before midnight…she said the servant would help him come back to power, greater and more terrible than ever before. I think Wormtail went to Voldemort yesterday."

Draco's hand clenched, crushing the daffodil, and he said tensely, "Well, there's your answer, Ron. The Dark Lord's return would be worse than anything we've ever faced."

The four students sat in silence for a few seconds.

A trembling voice spoke from behind them. "Draco, may I speak to you?"

They twisted around to see Pansy standing there with an expression of utter terror. Draco jumped to his feet.

"Did you hear what Harry just said?" he asked.

Pansy looked petrified. Then very slowly, she nodded. Draco took a step forward.

"You will not tell anyone," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Pansy's eyes flashed angrily, but her voice was very controlled as she replied, "I know how to keep my mouth shut."

"What did you want to speak to me about?"

Pansy glanced behind him at Hermione, Harry, and Ron, who had also climbed to their feet.

"You may speak in front of them," said Draco, impatiently.

Pansy raised an eyebrow, then she said, "I came to ask if you had something to do with the hippogriff. You did something, didn't you? I saw you leave dinner, and then you didn't come back until late at night."

Draco smiled thinly. "That's another secret you'll have to keep, Pansy."

The two Slytherins looked at each other carefully, then Pansy whispered, "What will you do if the Dark Lord rises, Draco?"

Draco's breath caught in his throat. Then he took Pansy's arm. "Let's speak privately," he hissed. He turned to his friends. "I'll be right back."

He guided Pansy out of earshot.

"You said I could speak in front of them," Pansy said softly. Her voice was trembling again.

Draco sighed. She was right - there was no point in being angry with her now. He ran his fingers through his hair. "If the Dark Lord rises, I don't know what I would do," he said. Then he glanced at her. "Why would you be worried about him? You're a pureblood…"

"I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about _you_."

Draco stiffened. "You know my blood –"

"Stop it, Draco, don't pretend innocence," she said quietly. "Most people think that you are playing some sort of _game_, befriending Potter, and even Weasley and Granger. Why else would you be friends with them? The Weasley's are the biggest family of blood traitors there is! And a _Mudblood_!? But I see the way you look at them. I know it's not a game. You really do care for them, don't you? And if I have seen it, I'm sure others have as well… please, Draco, be careful. _You are too close to the enemies of the Dark Lord._"

She was gripping his hands so tightly that he could barely feel his fingers.

"I couldn't bear it if you ended up… ended up…"

She couldn't finish the sentence.

"I'll be fine," said Draco, gently. "I promise."

* * *

He wandered back to Harry, Hermione, and Ron. They tried to pretend that they hadn't been talking about him the whole time, and failed miserably.

"So, what _would_ you do if Voldemort returns?" said Harry, trying a little too hard to sound casual.

Draco winced at the name, then said, "I don't know."

"You spent all that time just to tell her that…you don't know?" said Hermione, her voice higher than usual.

"It's complicated, Hermione…"

"We all know your father was a Death Eater –," said Ron. Draco tried to interrupt, but Ron held up his hand. "– let me finish. We also all know that, er, you believe he was under the Imperius…"

Draco snorted. "He wasn't."

They looked at him in shock.

"I found out he wasn't. I was wrong."

Ron and Harry exchanged a glance. Hermione quickly spoke up.

"Well, you are still a very different person from your father," she said.

"Thanks for the confidence," Draco said, dryly.

"Voldemort would be out to kill me," Harry said, quietly. His green eyes were intense. "Would you join him?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I jumped in front of an angry hippogriff for you," he snarled. "I followed you into the Chamber of Secrets. Do you _really_ doubt me?"

Harry looked away. "I had to ask," he said softly.

They all fell silent, then Ron piped up, too cheerfully, "Well, maybe Professor Trelawney was just playing a dirty trick and we'll have nothing to worry about! So…is anyone up for a game of Exploding Snap?"

The rest of the week passed by quickly. The exam results came out on the last day of term. Draco scored very well, this time edging out Hermione in two classes – Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

And then it was time to head home.

* * *

Draco continued to ponder Pansy's words. _Snape's warning had been very similar_, he thought. And then he was reminded of his father. If the Dark Lord rises, would his father serve him again?

The morning after he returned home, Draco knocked on the door to his father's study.

"Come in."

Draco stepped inside. His father was sitting, relaxed, at his elegantly carved mahogany desk, reading some papers.

"How can I help you, Draco?" Lucius said pleasantly, though his eyes didn't look up from the parchment before him.

"Dad, if you have time this summer, could you tell me some stories from… before I was born?"

Lucius' eyes stopped moving across the parchment. "Why?" he asked softly.

Draco had planned extensively for this meeting since he knew his father would resist. He spoke smoothly, although his tone gave no hint that his answers were rehearsed. "I overheard interesting information at school, sir. Dumbledore was speaking to Potter."

There. That got his father's attention.

Lucius slowly looked up. His grey eyes, just like Draco's, betrayed nothing. But Draco knew that his father was very, very curious.

"There has been a prophecy. It said that a servant of the Dark Lord has returned to him; and that he will rise again, greater and more powerful than ever."

Like Draco, Lucius had very pale skin – but he was now whiter than parchment. He quickly cleared his table.

"Sit," he said.

Draco pulled up a chair and sat. His father regarded him expressionlessly.

"Tell me everything about what you heard."

Draco told him the story he had made up about overhearing Dumbledore and Harry. When he finished, he observed with satisfaction that Lucius believed every word.

"Are you still friends with Potter?"

"No sir," Draco lied, remembering that his father had wanted him to break off their friendship.

"You should befriend him again."

This took Draco by surprise. "Why?"

"The Dark Lord is not a forgiving man," said Lucius, softly. "He will be upset that some of us have not assisted with his return."

Draco immediately realized the implication. "So I am to get information on Potter, and gain his trust, to appease the Dark Lord's fury _when you return to him_," he said.

Lucius' eyes were hard. "If I do not go to him, he will hunt down you and your mother and force me to watch him torture and kill you. Then he will kill me."

Draco absorbed this, then said, "I understand, sir."

Lucius got up and started pacing the room. "We need to plan. Draco, you will meet with me every day for an hour after breakfast. There are things that I need to teach you, to tell you. I cannot stress enough how important this is."

"Yes sir."

And so every day, even on Sunday, they met in the study. His father told him of the Dark Lord, and of other Death Eaters; how Macnair loved to kill, and Bellatrix loved to torture; how Avery and Mulciber always worked as a pair; how Rowle had a habit of casting the Killing Curse haphazardly and should be avoided at all cost in battle, even if you were on the same side. He spoke in a hushed, almost worshipful tone of some of the incredible works of magic he had seen the Dark Lord perform.

He explained some of their rituals – initiation of new recruits, communication, selection of a target, and the uses of the Dark Mark.

Then he moved on to talk about the Dark Arts. Before this summer, he had informally told Draco some tidbits of information, but now he began in earnest to educate his son, teaching him systematically about cursed objects, poisons, and curses.

"I had planned on telling you these things when you graduated," said Lucius tiredly, after one particularly information-packed day. "There is so much to cover… and so little time…"

His father also assigned him tasks to complete every day, to read certain books or to practice certain spells. Draco was working as hard as he did at Hogwarts, but he didn't complain. He knew what was at stake.

In early July, his father pulled up his left sleeve. Draco barely swallowed his gasp – he had never seen his father's Dark Mark before. The skull and snake twisted up his father's inner arm. It was a pale red, like an angry burn.

"Look," said Lucius, "It's getting clearer. He's getting stronger."

Then he let his sleeve fall.

* * *

The summer wasn't all work and no play. As usual, Draco, Vince, and Greg played lots of pick-up Quidditch. When they tired of flying, Draco persuaded them to duel him. Unfortunately, they weren't very strong opponents, but he still found it to be useful practice. He was getting particularly good at his Shield Charm; neither of his friends could manage to break it. Granted, he wasn't sure if that was due to his own skill or their idiocy.

He was especially excited when he learned that Harry had managed to convince his Muggle relatives to let him use his owl. Draco happily wrote him weekly. When Harry told him of the awful diet the Dursleys were putting him and his cousin through, Draco sent his eagle owl back with packages full of meat pies, pumpkin loafs, and Chocolate Frogs.

Near the end of July, his father began telling him about some of his involvement with the Ministry. It took a few days before Draco realized that Lucius wasn't just telling him regular, everyday news. After all, ever since he could remember, his father had talked about current events at dinner, ensuring that Draco was aware of certain names and events.

However, the stories Lucius told him now were different. They were much more detailed, the subject matters were more covert, and he mentioned his own involvement more often.

"I met with the Minister yesterday to suggest a donation to St. Mungo's. I mentioned – offhandedly of course – that you are on the Quidditch team at Hogwarts, and the conversation naturally turned to the upcoming World Cup. And the Minister, being the generous man he is, suggested that he has prime seats open for invitation and offered them to us. Then, I signed an order to Gringotts for seven hundred thousand Galleons. That should give us a nice tax break as well, which means that the Minister's continued support and three seats to the World Cup have been ensured for only about three hundred thousand Galleons. His support is especially critical for the current legislation on Magical Education, as well as Muggle Affairs –"

The next day, Lucius detailed how he had lunch with an official in Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

"This is the man who helped me with the nasty hippogriff affair this year. You didn't happen to hear how the beast escaped? No? Pity… Anyways, I have been trying to keep tabs on Dobby's whereabouts after his departure –"

Draco had known his father was influential, but had never realized the amount of time, effort, and care that went into maintaining this influence. He began to feel the weight of responsibility, even though his father hadn't made any real demands on him yet. The art of gathering power and wealth, which had been honed by generations of Malfoy's, was being passed on to him. Draco had never wished for a sibling, but now he almost did – so that he had someone else with whom he could share the burden.

It was not easy. He knew that his father loved him, but Lucius was not a warm or gentle man. He was often harsh and unforgiving with mistakes.

"How many times do I have to remind you that it is antherium, not asclepias, that prevents speech and can potentially suffocate!? And what are the signs? Yes, that is correct, it does cause sores and numbing when swallowed. Now, list all the non-lethal slow-acting poisons and their side effects…"

But then sometimes when Draco entered the study in the morning, his father would look up with an expression that made him want to work even harder. It was an expression of fear, worry, and hopelessness that would be quickly hidden – but Draco saw it nonetheless.

_It's almost as if he expects to die_, Draco thought one day, _and he's grooming me to take his place as fast as possible_. He immediately shoved the thought away. It hurt too much to think about. It was unimaginable that his father wouldn't always be there.

In early August, his father handed him a large jar. Draco held it gingerly – it was full of spiders.

"It's time for you to practice the Unforgivable Curses," said Lucius.

Then he spent the entire hour explaining the curses, how to cast them, and when best to use them.

"Never use them unless the Dark Lord commands you to. You do not want to hurt the wrong person and risk displeasing him. Be especially judicious with the Killing Curse. Unlike torture or the Imperius, death is irreversible."

Back in his room, Draco unscrewed the jar, carefully tilted it, and poked a single spider out with his wand. He rescrewed the lid, then pointed his wand at the spider.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Nothing happened.

Draco narrowed his eyes. His father had said casting the Killing Curse required focus and ability.

Well… Draco knew he had the ability. He just had to focus.

_Kill_, he thought. He imagined the spider rolling over and dying on the ground.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

The spider rolled over, but a second later it sprang back on its feet.

Draco sighed.

Two weeks later, he could manage all three Unforgivables.

He eyed the last spider.

"Should I let you go free?" he whispered to himself. Then he smirked. "Nah." After being around them for so long, he wasn't sure if he could _ever_ be able to see a spider without killing it.

He cast the Killing Curse, flicking his wand casually. Only the hard, focused look in his eyes betrayed the amount of effort the curse took. The spider collapsed.

He grinned, pleased with himself.

But when he reported back, Lucius conjured a beautiful, white dove.

"Kill it," he said.

And Draco couldn't do it. He couldn't bear to torture it either. Lucius produced a cage for the bird, then handed it to Draco.

"Come back when you can kill it."

It took a whole week before Draco managed to do it. Afterward, he sat miserably on the floor by his bed for several long hours, cradling the limp bird in his hands, feeling like a rotten human being. When he brought it to his father, Lucius nodded, then said, blandly, "Humans are even more difficult."

Draco didn't need to ask if his father had killed before. He already knew the answer.

The end of August rapidly approached. Draco's excitement for the World Cup began to build. His letters to Harry contained nothing but Quidditch talk.

And finally, the night before the match, he ran downstairs, through the entrance hall, out the front door, then down the long path to the front gate. His parents were there waiting.

He grasped his father's hand, and then felt the familiar but sickening squeeze of Side-Along Apparition. He was off to see the World Cup!

* * *

**This is where Book Three ends.**

**The Ministry generally ignores when the Trace is broken by an underage wizard in a magical household, expecting their parents to discipline them. According to the HP wiki, it's pretty inconsistent, so for the sake of the story, I'm just assuming that Draco doesn't get into trouble for practicing Unforgivables.**

**Also, Draco doesn't write to Hermione or Ron because his parents would probably have heart attacks if they found out.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	27. The World Cup

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

Draco looked excitedly around the large stadium. A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself.

"Here we are," said Lucius, peering at the tickets in his hand. "Second row, center seating… Ah, Fudge! How are you?"

He reached out to shake hands with the Minister of Magic.

Draco glanced curiously around the top box, and then saw that the first row was filled with people with red hair. It was Ron's family! And Harry and Hermione were with them of course, waving at him. Draco grinned to see that he would be sitting right behind them.

"Ah, young Draco," Fudge said. "It's a pleasure to see you again, under happier circumstances than last time."

"It is a pleasure to see you again as well, sir," Draco responded, politely.

Fudge beamed at him, then looked around. "Let's see... Lucius, you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

Draco winced inwardly as his father and Mr. Weasley looked at each other with undisguised dislike. _How could Fudge be so oblivious?_ The last time his father and Mr. Weasley had met, they had had a fight that made it into the Daily Prophet. Of course, Draco now knew that the fight had merely been an excuse for his father to place a Dark Object in Ginny Weasley's hands…

He followed his parents as they edged along the row to their seats, then sat down. Harry, Ron and Hermione turned to face him.

"How's your summer going, Draco?" Hermione said brightly.

"Great! How about you?" he responded, then he snuck a look at his father.

Lucius was staring coldly at Hermione, his lips curled into a sneer. When Draco looked back at Hermione, she was slightly pink, but was staring determinedly back at his father.

"Father, this is Hermione Granger, the brightest witch in our year and one of Harry's best friends," he said carefully.

A mask seemed to fall over Lucius' face, and his voice was flat and impassive as he said, "Pleased to meet you, Miss Granger."

Draco turned to say more, but then a voice boomed out over the stadium.

"Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

He exchanged excited looks with his friends, then sat back to watch.

* * *

Draco had only been ten during the last Quidditch World Cup, and his memory of the event was fuzzy. Now that he was older and played for the Slytherin Quidditch team, he had a new appreciation of the sport. Soon he was on his feet, cheering with the crowd.

The match was fast and brutal. The Irish Chasers were superb, but the Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum, was by far the best flier on the field. Draco had never seen anyone fly like that; Krum hardly looked as though he was using a broomstick at all; he moved so easily through the air that he looked unsupported and weightless. And he was only eighteen!

After the match, Ron leaned back over his seat.

"Draco, want to come hang out with us tonight?"

Draco glanced at Mr. Weasley, who was busy scolding Ron's twin older brothers. "Will your dad be alright with it?"

Ron shrugged. "Let me ask."

"I'll ask my dad too."

Draco turned to ask Lucius.

"No," his father said shortly.

"But didn't you say to befriend Potter? This is the perfect –"

His father interrupted. "I will be reuniting with several old friends. If anything happens, go into the woods by the campsite."

Draco looked away. "Yes sir," he said quietly.

And so he spent the evening in their luxurious tent, fiddling with his binoculars, watching replays of the match. He was alone; his parents were out visiting.

As the night dragged on, his frustration grew. The sounds of celebration drifted through the tent's walls, and Draco began to question whether his father had been correct – whether something really was going to happen tonight.

He could imagine Harry, Ron, and Hermione, surrounded by Ron's family, laughing and joking the night away… and an intense jealousy rose inside of him. Why did his father have to be a former Death Eater? Why couldn't he have just been a normal kid, and have normal friends, and not have to worry about his father's illicit activities?

He knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn't control his rage. He paced around the tent. It was as if all the negative emotions he had ever suppressed were rising up, overwhelming him.

Nothing he ever did was good enough, for anyone. He remembered his anger when Dumbledore ignored his role in stopping Quirrell's quest for the Sorceror's Stone. He felt the despair of defeat when Harry beat him _again_ for the Snitch. He saw Sirius Black's face twist in disgust at the mention of his name.

Snape and Pansy were right. He had been an idiot, thinking that his friendship with Harry, Ron, and Hermione was worth anything. Others still saw him as a Malfoy, as the son of a former Death Eater, as an arrogant, pureblood aristocrat who bought his way through life.

Then, from the depths of his memory, Dumbledore's voice resonated in his head. _Sometimes the best reward isn't in what others think of us. And sometimes the only reward must stay hidden in our hearts._

What a doddering old fool. Draco was sick of the lies and secrets that surrounded him. He didn't want to be seen as someone he was not, or hide any more secrets in his heart.

But Draco couldn't see any escape. He couldn't bear to disappoint his father, or abandon his mother. And what choice did he have? If the Dark Lord returned, then he would be safest if he acted the part of a Malfoy.

A wild mix of frustration, anger, jealousy, loneliness, helplessness and fear swirled inside of him.

He was still pacing when he heard the screams.

Immediately, he grasped his wand and ran outside. By the light of the few fires that were still burning, he could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward them. It was a crowd of wizards, hooded and masked, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward.

Draco looked up into the sky at where their wands were pointing, and saw four struggling figures. He recognized one of them as a male Muggle, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. As he watched, the woman was flipped upside down, her nightdress falling to reveal her underclothes. And the smallest Muggle child was spinning like a top, his head flopping limply from side to side.

Normally, Draco would have been horrified. But his anger numbed his shock, and he felt a sick jolt of excitement at their suffering. He walked into the forest behind his family's tent, then he turned and stood at the edge of the woods, leaning against a tree, arms crossed, watching with fascination the scene unfold before him.

Draco knew that his father was one of the hooded wizards. He wondered idly if his father would expect him to join in one day. At this particular moment, he didn't care.

He heard footsteps approaching and turned his head toward the noise.

"Ron, where are you?" said a familiar voice. It was Hermione.

"Tripped over a tree root," Ron replied, sounding angry and embarrassed.

Draco smiled cruelly into the darkness. "Well, with feet that size, hard not to," he called out, his voice cold and drawling.

"Is that you, Draco? Oh this is stupid – _Lumos_!"

A light appeared; Hermione had illuminated her wand. The soft light lit up her face, which held an odd expression of concern and relief. Harry stood behind her, while Ron climbed to his feet.

"Draco! What are you doing here? Are you watching… them?" she said.

He smirked, his pale eyes gleaming in the wandlight. "Entertaining, isn't it."

"What!? No it's not! It's sickening!" Ron exclaimed.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Draco? Are you alright?"

Draco chuckled darkly. "That depends on what you mean by alright."

"Your father is part of that masked lot, isn't he?" said Harry, quietly.

Draco's lips curved into a thin smile. "Well… if he was, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?"

Hermione took a step toward him. "What's _wrong_ with you, Draco?"

"I wouldn't come any closer if I were you," Draco drawled. "They're heading this way. Wouldn't want to get spotted, would you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Hermione, defiantly.

There came a bang from the other side of the trees. Harry, Ron, and Hermione jumped at the sound. Several people nearby screamed.

Draco laughed softly.

"They're after Muggles… and Muggleborns," he said. "Do you want to be showing off your knickers in midair, Hermione? Because if you do, hang around… I'd really appreciate it."

Hermione gasped, and her face colored. She moved forward furiously to smack him, but Draco caught her by her wrist. He pulled her closer, and she stumbled, falling into his arms.

She looked up at him, wide-eyed, her face filled with fear.

_Fear?_

The world seemed to fall away as he looked into her eyes. He inhaled sharply. "Why are you afraid of me?" he whispered. He brought a hand up to stroke her cheek, and heard her breath catch in her throat.

"Draco! Let her go!" Harry snarled, stepping forward.

Draco looked at him coldly. "Actually, I've changed my mind. I think she'd be safer with me. You should go."

"We're not leaving her," said Ron, stubbornly.

Draco lowered his head to murmur in her ear. "What say you, Hermione?"

She shivered, then pulled away and turned to Harry and Ron. "Let's go find the others. Come on."

But she spared a glance over her shoulder, her eyes lingering on his.

He felt an inexplicable sense of loss as he watched them walk away. He leaned back against the tree, and ran his fingers through his hair.

_What's wrong with me_? he thought. He no longer felt anger, or jealousy, or despair. He simply felt empty.

* * *

The last week of summer flew by quickly. Lucius tried to cram as much information as he could into Draco's head. Draco worked as hard as ever, but he couldn't get rid of that awful, empty feeling. When he closed his eyes at night, all he could see was the limp, white dove he had killed, and the fear in Hermione's eyes.

The evening before he was to leave for Hogwarts, there came a knock on his door. Draco was lying on his bed, skimming through _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_.

"Come in," he called, bookmarking and closing the book.

Narcissa walked in. "How are you feeling, Draco?" she asked. She sat on the edge of the bed.

"Fine," he lied.

She frowned, then leaned forward to place a cool hand on his forehead. "You've been acting strangely all week," she said worriedly. "Are you getting sick?"

Draco smiled. "Mother, really, I'm fine."

She placed a gentle hand under his chin and tilted his head up. "You should smile more often," she said fondly. "You have a handsome smile, just like your father."

"Then I'll just have to find more things to smile about," he said teasingly.

Instead of cheering her up, a shadow passed over Narcissa's face. "Draco, all I want is for you to be happy. I know that life may not always be kind… But remember, your father and I love you. We would be willing to do anything to see you smile more often."

Draco fiddled with the Transfiguration textbook in his hand. "Thank you, mother."

She sat in silence for a minute, then stood up. "Sleep well, I'll –"

"Mother, could you tell me about your sisters?" he blurted out.

Narcissa froze. "I only have one sister, and she is in Azkaban," she said stiffly.

Draco dropped his eyes. "I understand. Good night, mother," he said quietly.

He did not see the indecision in his mother's expression as she bid him good night, and left the room.

* * *

Draco stood in the corridor of the Hogwarts Express. He leaned against the wall, listening to the conversation through the compartment door, which had been left ajar.

The voices drifting through the crack were talking excitedly about Quidditch.

"We saw him right up close, as well," Ron was saying. "We were in the Top Box –"

Draco gathered his courage, and slid open the door. The conversation immediately halted as everyone looked towards him. All five of the fourth year Gryffindor boys were there, as well as Hermione, who was flipping through her Transfiguration textbook.

"Hello," he said mildly. "Mind if I sit?"

"Er… we promised to pay Lavender and Parvati a visit. See ya later," said two of the Gryffindor boys – Seamus and Dean – excusing themselves, and then they pushed roughly past Draco and out of the compartment.

"Come on in," said Harry, though he looked wary. Draco took the seat across from him, next to Hermione, who had buried her nose back in her book, though her eyes weren't moving across the page. Ron was sitting next to Harry, shamelessly glaring at Draco. On his other side sat a round-faced boy named Neville.

"So, _Malfoy_, what was wrong with you at the World Cup?" said Ron, getting right to the point. Neville's eyes widened as they flickered back and forth between Ron and Draco. He had obviously not realized that a confrontation was brewing, and it was now too late to excuse himself.

Draco's eyes flashed in anger. "Do you not trust me, Ron? After all we've been through, I am still just a _Malfoy_ to you?" he said. He was leaned back in his seat, his body posture absolutely relaxed, but his tone was frigid.

"I don't trust people who stand around watching torture like it's fun," said Ron.

"Did you really think… what those people did to those Muggles… was entertaining?" asked Harry.

"Wouldn't I have joined them if I did?" Draco responded coolly.

Harry looked uncomfortable.

"It was sick and disgusting," Ron spat. "But I saw your face. You were _watching _them like…like… it was a _game_. You enjoyed it, didn't you?"

"We've been friends for three years," Draco said softly, "but at the first sign of doubt you throw it in my face. You are a true and loyal friend, _Weasley_."

Ron's face turned red. He got to his feet, stepped out, and shut the sliding compartment door so hard behind him that the glass shattered. They heard his footsteps stomping off.

Hermione slammed her book shut and pulled out her wand. "For goodness' sake… _Reparo_!" The glass shards flew back into a single pane and back into the door. Then she stood up.

"Draco, can I have a word with you? _Alone_," she snapped, glaring daggers back at Harry, who seemed to be about to protest.

She stalked out of the compartment. Draco followed, firmly closing the door behind him. She turned to face him.

"You're different," she hissed. "You've changed. Something happened to you this summer. You didn't answer a single one of their questions. And how could you insult Ron like that!?"

"He insulted me first. Why shouldn't I return the favor?"

"Come off it, Draco. Tell me what's wrong. You know that you can tell me anything."

They were standing very close in the narrow corridor, speaking lowly in each other's ears so that no one could overhear. He looked at her coldly, although his stomach was churning again.

"How about _you_ answer a question for _me_, Hermione? Why were you afraid of me? Did you really think I would hurt you?"

Doubt appeared in Hermione's eyes, and Draco felt his heart twist uncomfortably.

"I don't know what to believe anymore," she said slowly. "You're hiding something, Draco."

Draco reached out for her hands. "Hermione, I –"

She backed away. "Don't," she said, her voice cracking. "I don't know why y-you pulled me to you that night. And I don't know why you're acting like this. _But don't touch me_."

He straightened and put his hands in his pockets. The empty feeling returned.

"I would never hurt you," he said, hollowly. "And I'd never hurt Ron or Harry either. I don't know why you don't believe me."

Hermione's eyes softened for a second, but then a voice shouted from down the corridor. It was one of the prefects patrolling the train.

"Oy! You two, what are you doing standing around? Get back in a compartment!"

* * *

Harry and Neville had been speaking quietly as well, but they fell silent as Hermione and Draco came back into the compartment.

Harry took a deep breath. "Draco, look, we've been through a lot together. I trust you. But I can see why Ron's unsure. It's hard to trust you when you don't trust us."

Draco was puzzled. "I do trust you."

"You're hiding something," Hermione insisted again.

"Can't a person have some _privacy_?" Draco snapped.

"Wait... the Dark Mark!" Harry gasped, his eyes brightening with sudden realization. "That's it, isn't it? You know something about it, don't you?"

"If you're talking about the Dark Mark that appeared at the World Cup, no I don't."

"Your father must have been terrified," said Harry. "Ron's brother said that any Death Eaters who stayed out of Azkaban would be frightened to see Voldemort come back."

Draco threw back his head and laughed humorlessly. "Oh, you have no idea. But he already knew that the Dark Lord is returning. I told him about the prophecy."

"What prophecy?" asked Neville.

Harry explained. "Professor Trelawney said the Dark Lord would rise again… _greater and more terrible than ever before_…"

"Trelawney's an old fraud!" Hermione's voice was shrill with fright. "You can't possibly believe her!"

"You weren't there," said Harry. "You didn't hear her. I told you, she went into a trance – a real one. So your father believes that Voldemort is returning?" He looked intently at Draco.

"Yes," Draco said. He met Harry's gaze. There was a dark, troubled look in his friend's eyes, and Draco felt a twinge of hope that perhaps one of his friends finally understood the fear inside of him.

"How did he react?" asked Harry.

"He's been teaching me things all summer, about the family business. In case, y'know, something happens to him." Draco said, vaguely.

There was a long silence as the Gryffindors absorbed this bit of information. Hermione moved as if to place a hand on his knee, but when Draco glanced at her, she looked away and jerked her hand back.

"Blimey, so your dad's really scared, huh," said Neville, finally.

Draco didn't respond. Something had caught his eye. There was something frilly and maroon draped over a shape of a birdcage. "What is that?"

Harry jumped up and tried to stuff them out of sight, but Draco grabbed them out of his hands and held up the dress robes.

"Whose are these?" Draco said, horrified. "_Is this lace_?"

"Nobody's," said Harry, hastily. He tried to snatch them away, but Draco balled the robes up in his hands.

"These are going in the trash," he declared.

"But Ron needs -" said Hermione, then she gasped and covered her mouth guiltily.

Draco frowned, trying to imagine Ron's robe size. The redhead was slightly broader than he was, but they were about the same height.

"I think my robes would fit him," he said.

Harry winced. "I don't think he'd take anything from you. He wouldn't even take anything from _me_."

"He doesn't have to know," Draco said firmly. Ron might be mad at him, but Draco wouldn't wish those robes on his worst enemy. They were moldy, frayed, and a disgusting color.

"But –"

Draco sat back down, ignoring Harry's protests. "So, how was your summer, Hermione?"

* * *

The Hogwarts Express slowed down at last and finally stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station. As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. The rain was falling thick and fast.

Harry and Neville ran out, heads bent against the downpour. Draco stopped just inside the train door, waiting for Hermione, who was bundling her cat in her cloak.

"Hurry up, Granger!" he called.

She bustled out of the compartment. "You didn't have to wait," she panted.

"My mother would scold me if I didn't wait for a lady," Draco responded, peering out into the rain. Then he looked down at her. "Ready?"

She grinned. "Yeah."

Forgetting that she had told him not to touch her, he wrapped one arm around her waist and covered them both with his cloak with the other. Together, they ran down the platform.

"Where's Harry and Neville?" Hermione shouted over the loud pattering of rain.

"I don't know, they probably got in a carriage already. Here, let's get in this one –"

He helped her climb into one of the horseless carriages, then hoisted himself up behind her. The door shut with a snap, and a few moments later, with a great lurch, the carriage began rumbling and splashing its way up toward Hogwarts Castle.

It was dark inside the carriage. They settled in, shaking out water from their clothing.

"Draco, what's your family's business?"

"Hm?"

"You said your father was teaching you all about the family business. What industry are you in?"

Draco burst out laughing. Hermione jumped at the unfamiliar sound. She had never heard Draco laugh like this before. Usually, he was so cynical, and his laughter was dark and humorless.

But now the sound spilling from Draco was warm and inviting. Hermione couldn't help but smile in response.

"Oh, Hermione," he said, barely able to speak. "It was a _euphemism_. We don't own a business, or a company, or anything like that."

"Then what did your father teach you?" She was confused.

Draco's mirth faded as quickly as it had came. "Lots of things," he said, suddenly sounding tired.

Hermione cautiously reached for his hand. He flinched, but didn't pull away.

"I'm sorry for what I said on the train," she said, softly. "I didn't mean it. And I _do _trust you. Remember how last year we got into that fight because I couldn't tell you about the Time-Turner?"

Draco smiled. "You said I was a slimy git."

"You are _still_ a slimy git," she laughed. Then she turned serious. "But you were acting that way because you were worried. And now I'm worried about _you_, Draco. Something happened this summer, something important to you, and I only want to know because _I care about you_."

He couldn't see Hermione's face in the darkness, but as he looked at her, something strange, something golden, felt like it was blossoming in his chest. He felt warmer, and more alive, than he had felt all summer. She stroked his hand nervously. He shifted forward in his seat on impulse, and his free hand ran up her arm, then brushed her cheek. He tilted his head and gently rested his forehead on hers.

Their breathing was ragged and heavy. She let go of his hand and snaked her arms around his neck. They were on the edge of a precipice. He wanted to leap off the cliff with her; he wanted to seize her by her shoulders and kiss her silly; but something stopped him.

She was Muggleborn. But that alone didn't bother him – no, it was that he felt more vulnerable than he had ever felt before. Being with Pansy, or his brief date with Katie Bell, had been fun and easy – he had liked them, but they hadn't really _meant_ anything. But what he felt for the girl in front of him was more than he could describe. Hermione was brilliant and strong; and she pushed him to become more, to do more; she challenged him. No one else would have dared to smack him last year.

He admired her… he cared for her… far, far too much. It made him uneasy – he was naturally a guarded and secretive person. And he knew that Hermione would want more, and demand more, than he was ready to give her.

"I can't," he breathed. His hands were trembling.

She shifted forward, but he pulled away before their lips met. "I can't," he repeated, his voice steadier.

Hermione pulled back as well.

"Then I'll figure it out," she said, in a fierce, but quiet voice. "I'll figure out what's bothering you. Just like you did for me."

He laughed again, but it was a dry, bitter laugh. "Good luck with that." There were far too many things going on in his life for anyone to figure out, he thought. Then he frowned.

If there was someone who _could_ figure him out, it would probably be Hermione Granger.

* * *

**Thus begins Book Four! **

**Unfortunately, I have real life obligations and will be unable to write for two weeks. After that, I will also only have time to update every few days instead of every day.**

**I'm sorry to disappoint, but hope that you will be patient with me. I am still very committed to this story and promise that I will finish it. After all, the juiciest parts are yet to come!**

****As always, thanks for reading and please review.****


	28. Fourth Year

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.**

* * *

After the welcome feast, Draco trooped downstairs with his fellow Slytherins. He went up the stairs that lead to the boys' dormitories, found the door marked "Fourth Years", and entered. Blaise was already unpacking his trunk, while chatting with Daphne and Pansy, who were sitting on his bed.

"Hello Draco!" said Daphne, smiling brightly. "Are you going to try and enter the tournament?"

Draco looked her up and down appreciatively; she had always been good-looking, and had grown even more beautiful over the summer. She tilted her head flirtatiously, her smile broadening as she looked brazenly back at him. He smirked, and then opened his trunk to organize his own belongings.

"Nah," he said, dismissively. "I have better things to do with my time than risk my life for a measly one thousand Galleons." He pulled out his robes to hang.

Theodore Nott, a tall and stringy boy, had entered the room behind Draco. "But you'd be famous!" he said. His eyes lit up dreamily. "Just imagine, all the girls that would come running!"

Daphne and Pansy exchanged disgusted glances, and then burst out in giggles. Theo glared at them.

Blaise chuckled. "Yeah, Theo, I don't think that would help you," he said. Draco sniggered.

Theo sullenly went to unpack his own trunk.

Vince and Greg walked in, last as usual, since they often lingered behind at dinner to stuff their faces. "What are you two doing here?" said Vince, narrowing his eyes at Daphne and Pansy.

"We're not here for _you_, Crabbe," said Daphne, rudely. She turned to Draco, blatantly shunning Vince, and said in an overly sweet voice, "So how was your summer, Draco?"

Draco hid his wince – Daphne may be a beauty but she was brainless and had no tact – and said, shortly, "Fine."

Pansy spoke up. "You went to the Quidditch World Cup, didn't you?" There was an edge to her voice. The room went suddenly quiet as the boys stopped rummaging through their trunks.

"Don't talk about that," said Theo in a tight voice.

"I thought _you_ would be glad to see the Dark Lord's Mark again, Theo," Pansy retorted.

Theo spun around, his face twisted in anger. "You don't know anything, so shut up!"

Pansy leapt off of Blaise's bed, pulled out her wand, and stomped towards Theo. "You dare to tell _me_ to shut up?"

Theo backed up against the wall, his eyes flickering to Blaise, who was leaning against the bedpost with his hands thrust in his pockets, and then to Draco, who was casually rolling his own wand between his fingers. Indecision clouded Theo's face; he wasn't sure if the other two boys would defend him or Pansy. He decided to err on the side of caution, and his head dropped in defeat.

"Sorry, Pansy, I didn't mean it like that," he mumbled.

Pansy snorted, then turned away. Her eyes shifted around the room and landed on Draco. A crafty look appeared on her face, and she slinked towards him.

"So, Draco," she purred. "What did _you_ think of the World Cup?"

Draco's wand flicked up – he muttered the spell – and before Pansy could react, her wand went flying across the room. She jumped back in surprise.

Draco laughed nastily. "You should know better than to mess with me," he said, then jerked his head meaningfully toward the door.

Pansy pouted, then tossed her hair. "Come on, Daphne," she said, bossily. "Let's go." As she bent to pick up her wand, Draco noticed Blaise admiring her backside. He shot his roommate a wink, and Blaise grinned, unabashed at being caught.

Daphne followed Pansy out of the room, her long eyelashes fluttering at Draco, but he ignored her. When the door closed behind the girls, Blaise said snidely to Theo, "You should go to the hospital wing and ask for some Skele-Gro because you really need to grow a backbone."

"Shut up," said Theo, his face turning pink.

Draco swaggered across the room and did his best imitation of Pansy's voice in falsetto. "_You dare to tell me to shut up?"_ he mimicked.

The other boys howled with laughter, and Theo's blush deepened. He fumbled for his wand. As he cast his spell, Draco lazily said, "_Protego_." The resulting deflected magic blasted back at Theo, lifting him off his feet and dumping him unceremoniously on his bed. He scowled.

"Give it up," Draco drawled.

"You wouldn't be so cocky if the Dark Lord returned," Theo muttered under his breath – but Draco heard and his grin faded.

"I have nothing to fear from the Dark Lord," he said, softly.

Theo sneered. "You're just like your little Gryffindor friends. Which side are you _really_ on, Malfoy?"

Suddenly he was jerked off his bed by two pairs of rough hands. Vince and Greg slammed him against the wall. Theo twisted in a futile attempt to escape from the two burly Slytherins. Then he froze as the tall blonde boy before him stepped forward and threateningly pressed the tip of his wand to his throat.

"I am on whichever side that wins," said Draco, his calm tone clashing with the hard look in his stormy grey eyes. He muttered a few quick words under his breath, and then stepped away to admire his handiwork, signaling Vince and Greg let go of Theo's arms, which were now locked in place. He had placed a Full Body-Bind Curse as well as a Tickling Charm on his roommate. Theo's eyes were nearly bugging out of his head; but he was helpless to stop the torture.

Blaise shook his head. "That's just mean." But he didn't move to help Theo and avoided Draco's gaze.

"You say that as though I care," replied Draco, coldly. He stepped back towards his own bed to finish rearranging his personal belongings.

* * *

The curses wore out by the next morning, but Theo had haggard, dark circles under his eyes. He said nothing, though Draco was sure that he was plotting revenge. But Draco didn't care; he was confident in his ability to counter anything Theo could do to him. At breakfast, Snape passed out class schedules to the Slytherins. Draco held one up to examine.

"Today's not so bad… Charms first… and then Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors…" He bit into his buttered toast.

"Double Arithmancy this afternoon," Blaise groaned.

"If you need help, just ask," said Draco, grinning. Blaise glared at him resentfully - they both knew that Blaise would rather die than ask anyone for help.

Charms was rather dull. Flitwick insisted on reviewing every spell from the previous year. Vince, Greg, and Daphne seemed to have forgotten everything over the summer and were struggling with the simple _Wingardium Leviosa_. Draco and Blaise spent the period surreptitiously messing with Daphne's feather, causing her to stare in puzzlement as her feather fluttered in random directions.

When the Slytherins left Flitwick's classroom, their class split, heading toward their respective electives. Draco headed outside with Vince and Greg for Care of Magical Creatures.

The Gryffindors were already there, gazing with disgusted expressions into open wooden crates. _That is not a good sign_, Draco thought.

He peered into a crate, and then jerked back. There were about a hundred creatures per crate. They were some sort of deformed, shell-less lobster, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places. They gave off a very powerful smell of rotting fish.

"What _are _these?" he asked.

"Blast-Ended Skrewts!" Hagrid replied cheerfully. "On'y jus' hatched so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"

"And why would we _want_ to raise them?" asked Draco.

Hagrid looked stumped at the question. Then he said, "Tha's… next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today."

Draco rolled his eyes. It was obvious that Hagrid had no clue.

After a few minutes of attempting to feed the creatures, it was clear that they were quite dangerous. "Some of 'em got stings," warned Hagrid. "Be careful wi' burns too, an' I reckon the females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies, might be ter suck blood."

"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," Draco said, sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"

"Just because they're not very pretty, it doesn't mean they're not useful," Hermione snapped. "Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?"

Draco grinned. "When you discover the twelve uses of Blast-Ended Skrewt blood, let the rest of us know, eh?"

Hermione glared at him, but the corner of her lip twitched.

After lunch, Draco and Hermione headed to Arithmancy while Harry and Ron went off to Divination.

"No more Time-Turner?" he asked.

"Too much trouble. I dropped Muggle Studies," said Hermione. Draco smirked at her, and she growled, "Oh, shush Draco, I know you told me so. By the way, guess what I found out!? There are _house-elves _here!"

She looked at him expectantly, and so Draco pretended to be mildly interested. "Really, I've never seen one around," he said.

"It's despicable that Hogwarts is partaking in such oppression!"

He blinked at her, fighting the urge to burst out laughing. "You're _joking_."

She glared at him. "Of course I'm not!"

"Have you ever even _talked_ to a house elf? They don't want to be free. They like being servants!"

"Dobby didn't!"

Draco winced. "Dobby was… odd. He nearly killed Harry several times, remember?"

"It is still a horrible and disgusting custom and it's people like you who prop up rotten and unjust systems –"

"Isn't it arrogant of you to presume that _you_ know what's best for them, better than they themselves?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him. "They're uneducated and brainwashed! They don't know any better –"

"Now you're calling them stupid. That's insulting."

"Slavery is wrong no matter how you try to twist the argument," Hermione sputtered.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well if you feel so passionately about it, why don't you start up a little club and see how many members will support you? My bet is zero."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Draco! That's a brilliant idea! The club could be named…. Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in their Legal Status!"

Draco laughed out loud. Hermione's eyes sparkled as she looked happily back at him. He grinned.

"I don't even know how to describe you," he said, shaking his head. She was so naïve sometimes, even if she was brilliant.

They sat by each other in Arithmancy, passing notes back and forth as Professor Vector droned on about the magical properties of the Fibonacci sequence. Hermione told him her crazy ideas about elf rights, while Draco offered criticism and suggestions, helping her hone her arguments. He couldn't care less about house-elves, but he enjoyed the logical argumentation. She also knew absolutely nothing about persuasion and the political maneuvering that she would need if she wanted to achieve real legal change, which Draco found hilarious. And she had no flair for coming up with a catchy club name.

_What do you think about S.P.E.W. - Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare,_ she wrote.

_Makes me want to spew_, he replied, earning a kick under the table. He grinned, and then wrote, _What about_ _Organization for the General Rights of Elves._

_Ogre? You asshat, _she replied. He snickered under his breath.

* * *

After class, they joined up with Ron and Harry in the entrance hall, which was packed with people queuing for dinner. They had just joined the end of the line, when Blaise came up behind Draco and draped an arm over his shoulder.

"Hey mate."

"Hey Zabini. What's up?"

Blaise shoved a paper under Draco's nose. "Might want to let your ginger friend see this," he said, shooting a sly glance at Ron, who immediately snatched the paper out of Draco's hands.

Ron scanned the paper, then looked up at Draco with narrowed eyes. "So, making fun of my dad now, Draco?"

"I haven't even read it yet. Give me that," Draco responded frostily, ripping the paper back. He chuckled at the misprint of Ron's father's name. "Looks like '_Arnold Weasley'_ doesn't need any help making a fool of himself –"

"I've _had _it with you!" roared Ron, lunging forward. Both Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of Ron's robes to stop him from attacking Draco. Everyone in the entrance hall stopped to stare at them.

Draco whipped out his wand. "What's your problem, Weasley? I've done absolutely nothing to you," he snarled, stepping forward and raising his wand.

"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"

A loud bang echoed throughout the entrance hall. The world blurred and suddenly Draco was peering up through fuzzy eyes. Was there something wrong with his vision? But even though he couldn't see very well, there was a deafening onslaught of noise and strange aromas that he had never sensed before. He twitched his whiskers, trying to get a feel for his surroundings.

_Whiskers?_

Then suddenly something invisible seemed to pick him up and he was flung through the air, and then landed with a _SMACK_ back on the floor. That hurt! He squealed in pain, flailing his legs and tail – _tail?_ – helplessly.

And then there was another loud crack and Draco was deposited on the ground, back in his human form. He groaned, and then climbed to his feet, wincing. He glared around furiously. Where was his wand?

"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!" Professor McGonagall was saying. "We give detentions! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"

"I'll do that, then," said Moody. He stared at Draco with blatant dislike. "I don't like people who attack when their opponent can't attack back. Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do. Now your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?"

"Yes sir," said Draco. He found his wand on the floor and bent to pick it up, not keeping his eyes off of Professor Moody.

"I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape," Moody growled. "Come on, you –"

He moved to seize Draco's arm but the boy jerked back. The professor's eyes widened and a strange glint appeared in them. Draco stared back coldly, his grip on his wand tightening. Something was warring in Moody's eyes, as though he was barely restraining himself from attacking Draco again. But then the professor simply gestured for him to follow, and then stumped off towards the dungeons.

Draco did not glance around, or look back at his friends. He didn't want to see their faces; he had just been humiliated in front of the entire school. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he followed Moody, boiling in anger and frustration.

* * *

**Life has gotten a lot busier than anticipated. I will do my best to update as soon as I can, but it may be a while. Please review, and as always, thanks for reading.**


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